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THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


UNDER  KING  CONSTANTINE. 


UNDER  KING  CONSTANTINE 


BY 

KATRINA   TRASK 


SECOND   EDITION 


NEW  YORK:    ANSON  D.   F.   RANDOLPH   AND 
COMPANY  (INCORPORATED),  182  FIFTH  AVENUE 


Copyright,  1893,  by 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED). 


PS 


93 


TO  MY  HUSBAND. 


G23923 


The  following  tales,  which  have  no  legendary 
warrant,  are  supposed  to  belong  to  the  time, 
lost  in  obscurity,  immediately  subsequent  to 
King  Arthur's  death ;  when,  says  Malory,  in 
the  closing  chapter  of  LA  MORT  D'ARTHURE, 
"Sir  Const antine,  which  was  Sir  Cadors  son 
of  Cornwaile,  was  chosen  king  of  England; 
and  hee  was  a  full  noble  knight,  and  worship- 
fully  hee  ruled  this  realme." 


SANPEUR. 


SANPEUR. 

THE  great  King  Constantine  is  at  the  hunt; 
The  brilliant  cavalcade  of  knights  and  dames, 
On  palfreys  and  on  chargers  trapped  in  gold 
And  silver  and  red  purple,  ride  in  mirth 
Along  the  winding  way,  by  hill  and  tarn 
And  violet-sprinkled  dell.     Impatient  hounds 
Sniff  the  keen  morning  air,  and  startled  birds 
Rustle  the  foliage  redolent  with  spring. 

From  time  to  time  some  courtier  reins  his  steed 
Beside  the  love-enkindling  Gwendolaine, 
Whose  wayward  moods  do  vary  as  the  winds, — 
Now  wooing  with  her  soft,  seductive  grace; 
Now  fascinating  with  her  stately  pride; 


UNDER   KING  CONSTANTINE. 

Anon,  bewitching  by  her  recklessness 

Of  wilful  daring  in  some  wild  caprice 

Which  no  one  could  anticipate  or  stay. 

How  fair  she  is  to-day!     How  beautiful! 

Her  hunting-robe  is  bluer  than  the  sky, — 

Matching  one  phase  of  her  great,  changeful  eyes, — 

Clasped  with  twin  falcons  of  unburnished  gold, 

The  colour  of  her  brown  hair  in  the  sun. 

The  white  plumes,  drooping  from  her  hunting-cap, 

Leave  her  alluring  lips  in  tempting  sight, 

But  hide  the  growing  shadow  in  her  eyes. 

For  she  marks  none  of  all  the  court  to-day 

Save  Sir  Sanpeur,  the  passing  noble  knight 

Whose  bearing  doth  bespeak  heroic  deeds, 

There  where  he  rides  with  the  sweet  maid  Ettonne. 

Sir  Torm,  the  husband  of  fair  Gwendolaine, 
Is  all  unconscious  of  aught  else  beside 


SANPEUR. 

The  outward  seeming;  'tis  enough  for  him 

That  she  is  gay  and  beautiful,  and  smiles. 

He  has  a  nature  small  and  limited 

By  sight,  and  sense,  and  self,  and  his  desires; 

A  heart  as  open  as  the  day  to  all 

That  touches  his  quick  impulse,  when  it  costs 

Him  naught  of  sacrifice.     The  needy  poor 

Flock  to  his  castle  for  the  careless  gift 

Of  falling  dole ;  but  his  esquire  is  faint 

From  his  exacting  service,  night  and  day. 

His  Lady  Gwendolaine  is  satiate 

With  costly  gems,  palfreys,  and  samite  thick 

With  threads  of  gold  and  silver;  but  the  sweet 

Heart-subtleties  and  fair  observances 

Are  lost  in  the  of  course  of  married  life. 

He  sees,  too  quickly,  does  she  fail  to  smile, 

But  never  sees  the  shadow  in  her  eyes. 

His  hounds  are  beaten  till  they  scarce  draw  breath, 

9 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANTINE. 

And  then  caressed  beyond  the  worth  of  hounds. 

His  vassals  know  not  if,  from  day  to  day, 

He  will  approve,  or  strike  them  with  a  curse. 

His  humours  are  the  byword  of  the  court, 

And,  were  it  not  for  his  good-heartedness, 

His  prowess,  and  undaunted  strength  at  arms, 

Men  would  speak  lightly  of  him  in  disdain; 

He  is  so  often  in  a  stormy  rage, 

Or  supplicating  humour  to  atone, — 

Too  petty  to  repent  in  very  truth, 

Too  light  and  yielding  in  repentance,  when 

His  temper's  force  is  spent,  for  dignity 

Of  truest  knighthood.     No  one  feels  his  faults 

So  quickly,  with  such  flushing  of  regret 

And  shame,  as  Gwendolaine.     But  she  is  wife, 

His  honour  is  her  own,  and  she  would  hide 

From  all  the  world,  and  even  from  herself, 

His  pettiness  and  narrowness  of  soul. 


SANPEUR. 

So  she  forgets,  or  doth  pretend  forget, 

Where  he  has  failed,  save  when  he  passes  bounds; 

Then  her  swift  scorn — a  piercing  force  he  dreads  — 

Flashes  upon  him  like  a  probing  lance, 

To  silence  merriment  if  it  be  coarse, 

To  hush  his  wrath  when  it  is  violent. 

Though  powerful  to  check,  she  ne'er  could  change 

The  underflow  and  current  of  their  life. 

In  the  first  years,  gone  by,  ere  she  had  grown 

A  woman  of  the  world,  she  had  essayed 

To  stem  the  tide  of  shallow  vanity, 

To  realise  her  girlhood's  high  ideal, 

And  make  her  home  more  reverent,  and  more  fine. 

Sir  Torm  had  overborne  her  words  with  jest 

And  noisy  laughter,  vowing  she  would  learn 

Romance  and  sweet  simplicity  were  well 

For  harper  minstrel,  singing  in  the  hall, 


UNDER  KING   CONSTANTIN  E. 

But  not  for  courtiers  living  in  the  world. 

Once,  when  she  faced  the  thought  of  motherhood, - 

For  some  brief  days  of  sweet  expectancy 

Never  fulfilled  for  her, —  she  was  aware 

Of  thirst  for  living  water,  and  a  dread 

Of  the  light,  shallow  life  she  led,  fell  on  her; 

She  went  to  Torm,  and  spoke,  in  broken  words, 

The  unformed  longing  of  her  dawning  soul. 

He  lightly  laughed,  filliped  her  ear,  called  her 

"  My  Lady  Abbess,"  "  pretty  saint,"  and  then 

Said,  later,  jesting,  before  all  the  court, 

"  Behold  a  lady  too  good  for  her  lord ! " 

The  blood  swept  up  her  cheeks  to  lose  itself 

In  her  hair's  gold,  then  ebbed  again  to  leave 

Her  paler  than  before.     She  stood  in  silent, 

Momentary  hate  of  Torm,  all  impotent. 

He  saw  her  pallor  and  her  eyes  down-dropt, 

Came  quickly,  flung  his  arm  around  her,  saying, 


SANPEUR. 

"God's  faith,  my  girl,  you  do  not  mind  a  jest! 
Where  are  the  spirits  you  are  wont  to  have  ?  " 
"  My  lord,  they  shall  not  fail  you  any  more," 
She  answered  bitterly,  and  after  that 
Torm  did  not  see  her  soul  unveiled  again. 
Thenceforth  she  turned  her  strivings  after  truth 
To  winning  outward  charm  the  more  complete, 
And  hid  her  inner  self  more  deeply  'neath 
The  sparkling  surface  of  her  brilliant  life. 

To-day  he  wearies  her  with  brutal  jest 
Upon  the  hunted  boar,  and  calls  her  dull 
That  she  laughs  not  as  ever. 

While  Sanpeur 

Was  far  upon  a  distant  quest,  all  perilous, 
She  thought  with  secret  longing  of  the  hour 
When  once  again  together  they  should  ride. 
13 


UNDER    KING    CONSTANTINE. 

He  has  returned  triumphant,  having  won 
Fresh  honours. 

Now  at  last,  the  hunt  has  come, 
The  day  is  golden,  and  her  beauty  fair, — 
And  Sir  Sanpeur  is  riding  with  Ettonne. 
A  sudden  conflict  wages  in  her  heart 
As  she  talks  lightly  to  each  courtier  gay ; 
Jealous  impatience  that  the  Gwendolaine 
Whom  all  men  flatter,  should  be  thwarted,  fights 
A  tender  yearning  to  defy  all  pride 
And  call  him  to  her  for  one  spoken  word. 
The    world    seems    better    when    he    talks    with 

her; 

No  one  has  ever  lifted  her  above 
The  empty  nothings  of  a  courtly  life 
As  Sir  Sanpeur,  who  makes  both  life  and  death 
More  grandly  solemn,  yet  more  simply  clear. 


SANPEUR. 

In  a  steep  curving  of  the  road,  he  turns 

To  meet  her  smile,  which  deepens  as  he  comes. 

Sanpeur,  bronzed  by  the  eastern  sun,  is  tall, 

Straight  as  a  javelin;  in  each  noble  line 

His  knighthood  is  revealed.     Slighter  than  Torm, 

Whose  strength  is  in  his  size,  but  full  as  strong, 

Sanpeur's  unrivalled  strength  is  in  his  sinew. 

His  scarlet  garb,  deep-furred  with  miniver, 

Is  broidered  with  the  cross  which  leaves  untold 

The  fame  he  won  in  lands  of  which  it  tells. 

Upon  his  breast  he  wears  the  silver  dove, 

The  sacred  Order  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 

Which  Gwendolaine  once  noted  with  the  words, 

"What    famous    honours    you    have    won,    my 

lord ! " 

And  he  had  answered  with  all  knightly  grace, 
"  My  Lady  Gwendolaine,  I  seldom  think 
Of  the  higli  honour,  though  I  greatly  prize 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANT1NE. 

This  recognition,  far  beyond  my  worth ; 
My  thought  is  ever  what  it  signifieth. 
It  is  my  consecration.    I  belong 
To  God  the  Father,  and  this  is  the  sign 
Of  His  most  Holy  Spirit,  sent  to  us 
By  our  ascended  Saviour,  Jesu  Christ, 
By  Whom  alone  I  live  from  day  to  day." 
His  quiet  words,  amid  the  laughing  court, 
Had  startled  her,  as  if  a  solemn  peal 
Of  full  cathedral  music  had  rung  clear 
Above  the  jousting  cry  of  "  Halt  and  Ho ! " 
Then,  as  she  wondered  if  he  were  a  man 
Like  other  men,  or  priest  in  knightly  garb, 
He  spoke  of  her  rich  jewels  with  delight 
And  worldly  wisdom,  telling  her  the  tale 
Of  many  jewelled  mysteries  she  wore. 
"  In  the  far  East,  the  sapphire  stone  is  held 
To  be  the  talisman  for  Love  and  Truth, 


S4NPEUR. 

So  is  it  fitly  placed  upon  your  robe; 

It  is  the  stone  of  stones  to  girdle  you." 

"A  man,  indeed,"  she  thought,  "but  not  like  men." 

As  on  his  foam-flecked  charger,  Carn-Aflang, 
He  rides  to-day  towards  Lady  Gwendolaine, 
She  draws  her  rein  more  tightly,  arching  more 
Her  palfrey's  head,  and  all  unconsciously 
Uplifts  her  own, —  for  she  has  waited  long. 

"  Good  morrow,  my  fair  Lady  Gwendolaine." 

"Good    morrow,    Sir    Sanpeur;     pray    do    you 

mark 

My  new  gerfalcon,  from  beyond  the  sea  ? 
Your  eyes  are  just  the  colour  of  her  wings." 

"Now,  by  my  troth,  I  challenge  any  knight 
To  say  precisely  what  that  colour  is." 
17 


UNDER   KING   CONST/tNTlNE. 

"'T  is   there    the    likeness    serves  so  well,   San- 
peur." 

"  My  Lady  Gwendolaine,  your  speech  is,  far 
Beyond  your  purpose,  gracious,  for  right  well 
I  mind  me  that  you  told  me,  once,  your  heart 
Often  rebelled  against  the  well-defined; 
And  I  should  be  content  to  have  my  eyes 
The  motley  colour  of  your  falcon's  plume, 
Lest  they  make  you  rebel." 

"Ah,  Sir  Sanpeur, 
Your  memory  is  far  too  steadfast  I" 

"  Naught 
Can  be  too  steadfast  for  your  grace,  fair  dame." 

Now  he  has  come,  the  wayward  Gwendolaine 

Is  fain  to  punish  him  for  his  delay. 

"  Methinks,"  she  says,  in  pique,  against  her  will, 

18 


S4NPEUR. 

"The  beautiful  Ettonne  looks  for  her  knight; 
It  scarce  seems  chivalrous  to  leave  her  thus." 

"  'T  is  true,  my  lady,  I  came  not  to  stay, 
But  for  a  greeting,  which  I  now  have  said." 

He  left  her;  the  light  shadow  darker  grew 
Within  her  eyes;  and  golden  hawking  bells 
Upon  her  jesses  clashed  with  sudden  clink, 
As  her  fair  hand  had  closed  impatiently. 

Betimes  came  Constantine,  who  looked  a  man 
Of  hard-won  conquests,  not  the  least,  o'er  self. 
Before  his  stately  presence  Gwendolaine 
Bowed  low  with  heartfelt  loyalty. 

"My  King, 

Care  rides  beside  you;  banish  him,  to-day, 
He  will  but  spoil  the  sunshine  and  the  hunt." 

19 


UNDER  KING   CONSTANTINE. 

"Alas!  he  is  the  Sovereign  of  the  King, 

And  stays,  defying  all  command,  fair  Gwendolaine." 

Then,  smiling  grimly, — "  My  great  heritage, 

As  heir  to  fragments  of  the  Table  Round, 

Brings  me  no  wealth  of  ease." 

In  converse  light 

They  rode  together.     When  the  hunt  was  done, 
The  King,  all  courteous,  said,  "  My  gracious  dame, 
Well  have  you  learned  of  nature  her  great  laws; 
The  sun,  that  warms  with  its  intensity 
The  earth  to  fruitage,  is  the  same  that  throws 
Stray  sportive  gleams  to  beautify  alone; 
And  you,  who  meet  my  purposes  of  state 
With  a  responsive  thought  and  sympathy, 
As  no   dame  of  the  court,  —  and  scarcely  knight, — 
Has  ever  done,  are  first  in  making  me 
Forget  their  weight.     Gramercy  for  your  grace! 


SANPEUR. 

It  has  revived  me  as  a  summer  shower 
Revives  the  parched  and  under-trodden  grass; 
It  is  but  seldom  I  have  time  to  seek 
Refreshment,  save  of  labour  changed." 

"  My  King,"— 
She  passed  from  gay  to  grave,— "my  own  heart 

aches 

With    life's    vexed    questions,    and    its    stern    de 
mands, 

Full  often  even  in  my  sheltered  state; 
And  you,  my  liege,  must  be  well-nigh  o'ercome 
With  the  vast  load  of  duties  you  fulfil 
So  nobly,  to  the  glory  of  the  realm. 
Would  I  could  serve  you,  as  you  well  deserve; 
But  I  am  only  woman,  so  I  smile 
In  lieu  of  fighting  for  you,  as  I  would 
Unto  the  death,  if  I  were  but  a  knight." 


UNDER    KING    CONST4NT1NE. 

And  this  same  dame  who  spoke  so  earnestly 
To  Constantine,  said  when  she  next  had  speech 
With  Sir  Sanpeur,  "  Life  is  a  merry  play 
To  me,  naught  else;  I  seldom  think  beyond 
The  fashion  of  the  robe  I  wear ! " 

Sanpeur, 

Alone  of  all  the  men  who  came  within 
Her  circle,  varied  not  at  smiles  or  frowns; 
And  when  he  would  not  humour  passing  mood, 
And  when  she  felt  within  her  wayward  heart 
The  silent  protest  of  his  calm  reserve, — 
Although  a  longing  she  had  never  known 
Awoke  in  her, — her  pride,  in  arms,  cried  truce 
To  striving  spirit,  and  she  laughed  the  more. 
And  oftentimes  the  stirring  of  new  life, 
Without  its  recognition,  made  her  quick 
To  war  against  the  wall  that  Sir  Sanpeur 


SANPEUR. 

* 
Confronted  to  some  phases  of  her  charm; 

Made  her  assume  a  wilful  shallowness, 
To  hide  the  soul  she  was  afraid  to  face. 

One  day,  at  court,  her  restless  spirits  rose 
To  a  defiant  mood  of  recklessness; 
And  half  because  she  wanted  to  be  true, 
And  half  because  she  could  not  act  the  false 
Except  to  overdo  it,  her  clear  laugh 
Rang  out  at  witty  words  her  heart  disdained; 
Some  knights,  ignoble,  hating  noble  men, 
Were  loud  decrying  virtue;  Gwendolaine 
With  laugh-begetting  words  made  quick  assent 
To  the  unworthy  wit. 

She  scarce  had  spoken, 
Ere  Sanpeur  raised  his  penetrating  eyes, — 
The  only  ones,  in  all  that  laughing  group, 
Which  were  not  bright  with  an  approving  smile,- 

4  23 


UNDER    KING  CONSTANTINE. 

To  meet  her  own,  with  silent  gravity, 
A  swift  arrest  within  their  shining  depths 
To  one  more  word  unworthy  of  herself. 
And  Gwendolaine,  the  peerless  queen  of  dames, 
Cast  down  her  eyes,  for  once,  before  Sanpeur. 

Later,  he  stood  beside  her,  as  she  passed, 
"My  Lady  Gwendolaine,  —  incomparable, — 
'T  is  not  your  wont  to  be  so  cowardly." 

"  No  ?  Sanpeur,"  answered  Gwendolaine, "  nor  yours, 
It  seems,  to  be  well  mannered;  may  I  ask 
Where  I  have  failed  in  bravery,  forsooth  ?  " 

"You  were  a  coward  to  your  better  self 
In  your  light  answer  to  the  empty  words 
Your  nature  disavowed." 

"  Alack,  my  lord  ! 

That  is  my  armour;  warriors  ever  wear 
24 


SANPEUR. 

A  cuirass  of  strong  steel  before  their  breasts ; 
A  woman  carries  but  a  little  shield 
Of  scorn  and  badinage,  to  break  the  force 
On  her  weak  woman-heart,  of  javelins  hurled." 

"That  is  well  said,  my  Lady  Gwendolaine, 
But  it  is  not  the  same,  by  your  fair  grace; 
Our  armour  is  our  armour,  nothing  more; 
Your  shield  of  scorn  is  lasting  lance  of  harm, 
For  every  word  a  noble  woman  says, 
And  every  act  and  influence  from  her, 
Live  on  forever,  to  the  end  of  time; 
Your  true  soul  is  too  true  to  be  belied." 

"Who  told  you,  Sir  Sanpeur?" 

"  My  heart,"  he  said. 

She  raised  her  eyes  in  a  triumphant  thrill 
Of  sudden  rapture,  and  of  gratitude, 


UNDER   KING   CONST4NTINE. 

And  saw  herself  enwrapped  by  a  long  look 

That  came  from,  deeper  depths  than  she  had  known, 

And  reached  a  depth  in  her  as  yet  unstirred. 

She  stood  enspelled  by  his  long  silent  gaze 

Of  subtle  power.     His  unswerving  eyes 

Quelled  her  by  steadfast  calm,  yet  kindled  her 

By  lavish  love  and  light. 

Although  no  word 

Was  said  between  them,  as  they  moved  apart, 
She  knew  he  loved  her,  and  he  wist  she  knew. 

And  with  the  revelation  there  was  born 

A  wider  knowledge  of  life's  mystery. 

Sir  Torm  had  never  satisfied  her  soul; 

But  though  in  outward  seeming  she  was  proud, 

High-spirited,  and  passing  courtly  dame, 

At  heart  the  Lady  Gwendolaine  was  still 
26 


S/tNPEUR. 

A  hungry  child  who  craved  love's  nourishing, 

Unconscious  of  her  hunger;  so  she  had  clung, — 

In  spite  of  shocks,  repeated  time  on  time, — 

Close  to  the  thought  of  Torm,  remembering  all 

He  was  to  her  in  wooing  her;  rehearsed — 

As  children  count  their  pennies  one  by  one 

Day  after  day  to  prove  their  wealth  —  each  good 

And  sign  of  promise  in  his  nature  generous, 

Until  her  buoyant  heart,  quick  to  react, 

Had  warmed  itself,  and  kept  itself  alive, 

By  its  own  warmth  and  fire  of  earnest  zeal. 

And  as  men,  lost  in  a  morass,  feed  fast 

On  berries,  lest  they  starve,  and  call  it  food, 

Thus,  with  shut  eyes,  had  Gwendolaine,  till  now, 

Fed  on  affection  and  chance  tenderness, 

And  called  it  by  the  great  and  awful  name 

Of  Love,  not  knowing  what  love  meant.     But  swift 

As  light  floods  darkened   chamber,  when  one  flings 


UNDER    KING    CON STA NTIN E. 

The  window  wide,  so  her  unconscious  soul 

Was  flooded  with  the  strange  incoming  thought  — 

In  that  eternal  moment — of  true  love, 

Love  as  a  vital  force  within  the  soul, 

A  strength,  a  power,  an  illuming  light. 

And  Sanpeur  loved  her !     O  immortal  crown  ! 

She  was  not  conscious  of  her  love  for  him, 

Her  love  for  his  love  was  enough  for  her. 

Then  she  awoke  to  joy;  all  things  became 
Pregnant  with  deep  significance.     The  sky 
Flushed  with  the  coming  of  the  rosy  dawn; 
The  mountains  reaching  heavenward;  the  sun 
That  warmed  the  flowers, and  drank  their  dew ;  the  birds 
That  built  their  nests  well  hid  in  leafy  shade; 
The  grass  that  bent  in  homage  to  the  wind, — 
All  touched  her  heart  anew  with  subtle  thoughts; 
And  joy  brought  rich  unfolding  in  her  life. 


SANPEUR. 

She  had  more  pity  for  the  men  she  scorned, 
More  quick  forgiveness  for  the  envious  dames, 
And  when  the  little  children  crossed  her  path, 
She  stooped,  and  kissed  them,  as  was  not  her  wont. 

Alas!  too  often,  this  new  harmony 
Of  life  was  clashed  by  discord.     Sir  Torm  flung 
Upon  the  homage  Sanpeur  rendered  her 
Unworthy  jest  and  spiteful  words,  for  well 
He  hated  him  with  grudge  despiteous. 
Full  oft  his  wrath  was  roused  to  such  a  point 
He  could  not  hold  his  peace ;  even  to  the  King 
He  jeered  one  day  at  visionary  knights. 
The  keen-eyed  King,  with  intuition,  knew 
The  motive  of  his  speech, — "  Our  knight,  Sanpeur, 
But  contradicts  your  verdict,  Torm,  and  proves 
That  which  the  great  King  Arthur  taught, —  the  man 
Is  strongest  who  can  claim  a  strength  divine 
29 


UNDER    KING    CONSTANT1NE. 

From  whence  to  draw  his  own."    Sir  Torm  had  grown 
More  wrathful  in  his  heart  at  this,  and  kept 
Sanpeur  long  while  from  word  with  Gvvendclaine. 
Then,  when  Term's  anger  did  not  baffle  her, 
Sometimes  a  doubt  would  come,  and  doubt  hides  joy. 
Sir  Sanpeur  honoured  her  before  the  court 
With  chivalrous  and  frankest  loyalty. 
At  the  great  tournament  of  Christmas-tide, 
He  cried,  "Such  peerless  presence  in  our  midst 
As  the  unrivalled  Lady  Gwendolaine 
Strengthens  the  arm  to  prove  her  without  peer ! 
Let  him  who  will  dispute  it!"     Those  who  did, 
But  proved  it  by  their  fall,  for  worshipfully 
He  overthrew  them  with  so  simple  ease 
His  cause  seemed  justice   rather  than   love's  boast. 
Then  when  they  met  for  converse  face  to  face, 
He  spoke  from  his  unsullied,  fearless  soul 
Straight  to  her  own,  without  reserve  or  fear. 
3o 


SsiNPEUR. 

Yet  he  was  wrapped  in  a  calm  self-control; 

No  word,  no  whisper  of  his  love  for  her 

Had  ever  passed  his  lips  to  tell,  in  truth, 

The  love  that  she  was  sure  of  in  her  heart. 

And  when  he  lingered  by  some  maiden  fair, 

With  that  true-hearted  careful  courtesy 

He  never  for  a  moment's  space  forgot 

To  any  woman,  queen  or  serving-maid; 

And  when  the  maiden's  eyes  gave  bright  response 

To  his  fair  words  of  thought-betaking  grace, 

The  heart  of  Gwendolaine  would  faster  beat, 

And  all  her  waywardness  would  quick  return ; 

Then,  if  Sanpeur  approached  her,  she  would  mock 

At  life,  and  love,  and  fling  the  gauntlet  down 

As  challenge  for  a  tournament  of  speech. 

"And  pray,  Sanpeur,"  she  said  one  eve  to  him, 
When  they  were  at  a  feast  at  Camelot, 

5  3i 


UNDER   KING   CONST/tNTlNE. 

"Why  is  your  life  so  lone  and  incomplete, 
When  any  lovely  maiden  of  the  court 
Would  follow  you  most  gladly  at  your  call  ?  " 

"You  know  full  well,  my  Lady  Gwendolaine." 

"  By  your  kind  grace,  I  cannot  guess,"  she  said, 
Repenting  as  she  said  it,  instantly. 

"Because  I  love  you  only,  evermore; 

You  long  have  felt  it,  known  it;  and  I  thought 

Cared  not  to  hear  me  say  it  with  my  voice; 

But,  as  you  wish  it,  I  have  said  it  now, 

My  Lady  Gwendolaine." 

They  stood  among 

The  knights  and  ladies,  therefore  he  spoke  low, 
In  quiet  dignity,  as  he  might  say 
"  How  well  the  colour  of  your  robe  beseems 
Your  beauty";  —  not  a  trace  of  passionate 


SANPEUR. 

Intensity,  save  in  his  lucent  eyes. 

No  passion  nor  embrace  could  so  have  moved  her, 

As  this  calm  telling  her  in  quiet  words 

The  secret  of  all  secrets  in  God's  world, 

As  though  it  were  a  part  of  daily  life; 

This  power  to  hold  a  passion  in  his  hand, — 

Which  his  true  eyes  declared  was  measureless, — 

As  though  he  were  its  master,  utterly. 

True  women  are  like  Nature,  their  great  mother, 

Stirred  on  the  surface  by  each  passing  wind, 

But  ruled  by  silent  forces  at  the  heart. 

She  caught  her  breath  a  moment  in  surprise, — 

For  naught  has  to  the  mind  more  of  surprise 

Than  the  sweet  long-expected,  if  it  come 

When  one  expects  it  not, —  and  paused  a  space, 

With  downcast  eyes;  and  then  her  woman-soul 

Went  out  in  sudden  impulse,  graciously, 

In  boundless  thought  for  him  who  gave  her  all. 

33 


UNDER   KING    CONSTANTtNE. 

"O  Sanpeur,  love  one  worthier  than  I, 

And  where  your  love  will  not  be  guerdonless !  " 

"  To  love  you  is  a  guerdon  of  itself, 

You  are  so  well  worth  loving,  Gwendolaine." 

He  passed  with  knightly  bow,  and  joined  the  court, 

And  left  her  with  a  glory  in  her  eyes. 

Never  was  Gwendolaine  so  radiant 

As  on  that  evening;  courtiers  one  by  one 

Drew  near,  and  marvelled  at  her  loveliness. 

When  the  great  feast  was  ended,  she  was  well 

Content  to  leave  the  court  for  Tormalot ; 

For,  in  the  quiet  of  her  chamber,  when 

Sir  Torm  had  slept,  she  lived  in  thought  again 

The  sure  triumphant  moment  when  she  knew, 

Beyond  all  peradventure,  of  a  love 

That  her  heart  told  her  was  above  all  love 

Of  other  men  in  strength  and  purity. 

34 


S4NPEUR. 

And  on  the  morrow,  when  she  woke,  her  joy 
Woke  with  her,  and  encompassed  her  soul. 

In  strides  Sir  Torm,  equipped  for  tournament. 

The  Lady  Gwendolaine  goes  not  to-day, 

For  it  will  be  a  savage  tournament, 

"  Unfit  for  ladies,'''  Torm  had  said  to  her, 

"  Unworthy  men,"  she  thought,  but  did  not  say. 

"  Come,  Gwendolaine,  my  beauty,  ere  I  go, 
I  wait  to  have  you  buckle  on  my  sword." 

Smiling,  she  does  his  bidding. 

"  Ah  !  my  Torm, 

How  heavy,  and  how  mighty  is  your  sword; 
I  revel  in  the  glory  of  your  strength, 
And  in  your  prowess.     Well  I  mind  me,  dear, 
When  first  I  saw  you,  on  your  charger  black, 

35 


UNDER    KING   CONSTstNTINE. 

Riding  in 'knightly  state  to  my  old  home. 

'By  our  King  Arthur's  soul,'  my  father  said, 

'There  is  a  knight  of  valour  and  of  strength!' 

And  then  you  wooed  me  to  become  your  bride, 

Me,  scarce  a  maiden,  naught  but  wilful  child 

So  prone,  alas!  to  mischief  end  mistake; 

Of  humble  fortune,  with  but  whims  for  dower. 

You  were  so  kind,  so  generous,  you  flashed 

My  low  estate  with  splendour.     I  recall 

How  my  heart  laughed  with  girlish  pride  and  glee 

At  the  surpassing  bounty  of  your  gifts." 

"Ha!  Gwendolaine,  by  the  great  Holy  Grail 
I  caught  an  eagle  when  I  caught  that  dove, 
For  now  you  are  the  queen  of  all  the  dames; 
Even  King  Constantine,  who  seldom  marks 
A  lady  of  the  court,  comes  to  your  side 
And  flatters  you  with  royal  courtesies, 
36 


S/tNPEUR. 

Which  you  receive  with  far  too  proud  a  grace; 
For,  wit  ye  well,  I  would  not  let  it  slip, 
This  honour  of  his  preference  for  you." 

"  My  lord,  save  that  I  reverence  him  as  man, 
I  do  not  care  for  favour  of  the  King." 

"  I  care ;  that  is  enough  for  you,"  said  Torm. 
"  No  knight  has  charger  like  my  Roanault, 
No  knight  has  castle  like  my  Tormalot, 
And  none  lias  mistress  like  my  Gwendolaine  — 
I  choose  that  none  approach  her  but  the  King." 

He  laughed  a  loud  and  taunting  laugh,  and  turned 
And  kissed  her  with  a  loud  resounding  kiss. 

"  I  think  the  King  is  safe  for  you,  and  well 
For  me  in  my  advancement.      Other  knights 
May  serve  you  at  a  distance,  but  had  best 
Not  seek  your  side  too  often." 

37 


UNDER.    KING  CONSTANT1NE. 

Her  sweet  head 

Lay  like  a  lily  on  his  mailed  breast, 
While  she  toyed  lightly  with  the  yellow  scarf 
That  floated  from  his  helmet. 

"  Goes  Sanpeur 
To  the  great  tournament  to-day?"  he  asked. 

"  I  think  not,  Torm ;  it  never  is  his  wont 
To  tilt  in  tourneys  like  to-day's." 

"Think  not! 
I  want  an  honest  answer.     Do  you  know  ?  " 

"No  more  than  I  have  told  you,  my  Sir  Torm; 

It  scarce  becomes  his  chivalry  to  fight 

In  these  new  tourneys  of  such  savage  guise." 

"His  chivalry!     Now  God  defend!     Methinks 
You  are  too  daring.     What  of  mine,  forsooth  ?  " 

38 


SANPEUR. 

"  I  long  have  told  you  that  I  thought  your  strength 

Was  worthy  finer  service.     You  well  know 

I  like  not  tournaments  that  waste  the  land 

By  useless  bloodshed;  but,  my  Torm,  you  are 

Your  own  adviser,  so  I  say  no  more. 

Bend  down  and  kiss  me,  Torm,  before  you  go; 

Pray  be  not  wroth  with  Gwendolaine,  my  lord." 

"  Kiss  you  I  will,  if  you  can  tell  me  true 
You  will  not  see  that  coward  knight  to-day." 

Back  drew  she  from  his  breast,  and   said   in  scorn, 
"  I  know  not  whom  you  mean,  my  lord  Sir  Torm." 

"Tell  me  no  lies,"  said  Torm;  "  I  mean  Sanpeur." 

"Sanpeur,  the  fearless  knight,  a  coward! — he? 
What,  think  you,  would  your  great  King  Constantine 
Say  to  your  daring  slander?     Sir  Sanpeur 
Is  the  unquestioned  Launcelot  at  court; 

6  39 


UNDER    KING  CONSTANTINE. 

The  King  rests  on  him  with  unfailing  trust 

In  every  valiant  deed  and  feat  of  arms." 

She  drew  her  beauty  to  its  fullest  height, 

And  swept  him  with  her  eyes.      "  Fear  not  for  me, 

Sir  Torm.     Sanpeur,  alas!  is  too  engrossed 

With  duties  for  his  Master,  Jesu  Christ, 

And  for  his  lord,  the  King,  to  loiter  here 

With  any  woman,  howe'er  fair  she  be." 

Torm  laughed  a  quick  and  scornful  laugh,  that  made 
The  heart  of  Gwendolaine  beat  fast  and  fierce 
Against  its  sound  in  spirit  of  revolt. 

"Pray  who  was  coward  when  Sanpeur  refused 
In  open  court  to  joust  with  Dinadan  ?  " 

"You  know,  my  lord,  the  reason  that  he  gave." 

"  Ha,  ha !  some  empty  boast  of  holy  day, 
And  prayers,  and  fasting,  and  such  foolery." 


S4NPEUR. 

"  And  who,  my  lord,"  she  said  in  sudden  scorn, 
"  Unhorsed    once,    years    ago,    the    brave    Sir 

Torm, 
Who  never  was  unhorsed  by  knight  before  ?  " 

The  hot  blood  flushed  his  heavy-bearded  face; 
His  loud  voice  vibrated  with  rising  wrath. 

"  So  your  fine,  fearless  knight  of  chivalry 
Has  won  his  way  to  your  most  wifely  heart 
By  boasting  of  his  prowess !     By  my  sword  ! 
That  is  a  knightly  virtue  in  all  truth." 

"  It  did  not  need,  Sir  Torm,  that  he  should  tell 
The  story  that  was  waiting  for  your  bride 
In  every  prattling  mouth  about  the  court. 
Had  it  been  so,  she  never  would  have  heard; 
It  lies  with  petty  souls  alone  to  boast, 
Not  with  the  royal  soul  of  Sir  Sanpeur." 


UNDER    KING   CON  STANT1NE. 

"  Now,  by  the  blessed  Mother  of  our  Lord ! 
Methinks  you  love  this  valiant  knight,  Sanpeur." 

"And  if  I  did,"  she  cried,  her  soul  aglow 
With  exultation  of  defense  of  him, 
"It  well  might  be  my  glory;  for  there  lives 
No  knight  so  stainless  and  so  pure  as  he." 

"  Peace,  wanton  !  "  said  Sir  Torm.  "  It  is  your  shame ! " 

And  lifting  his  strong  heavy  mailed  hand, 
He  struck  ihe  lovely  face  of  Gwendolaine, 
And  went  out  cursing. 

Motionless  she  leaned 

Against  the  window  mullion,  where  she  reeled, 
White  as  the  pearls  she  wore;  and  love  for  Torm — 
The  thing  that  she  had  nourished  and  called  love — 
Fell  dead  within  her,  murdered  by  his  blow. 


S/tNPEUR. 

And  in  her  heart  true  love  arose  at  last 
For  Sir  Sanpeur,  proclaiming  need  of  him; — 
A  love,  for  many  days  hushed  and  suppressed 
By  wifely  loyalty,  now  well  awake, 
With  conscious  sense  of  immortality. 

Half  dazed,  she  swiftly  to  her  chamber  went, 
Stopped  not  to  wipe  the  blood  from  her  pale  cheek; 
Dropped  off,  in  haste,  her  brilliant  robe,  and  donned 
A  russet  gown  she  kept  for  merry  plays, 
And,  wrapping  o'er  her  head  a  wimple,  dark 
As  her  dark  gown,  crept  down  the  castle  steps. 
The  vassals  looked  at  her  askance;  she  drew 
Her  wimple  closer,  and  deceived  their  gaze, 
Until  the  gate  of  Tormalot  was  passed, 
And  she  was  out  upon  the  lonely  moor. 
Onward  she  went,  too  wrenched  with  pain  and  wrath 
To  fear,  or  wonder  at  her  fearlessness. 

43 


UNDER    KING    CONST4NTINE. 

The  knight  Sanpeur  was  on  his  battlements, 

Silvered  with  light  from  the  full  summer  moon, 

And  heard  his  seneschal  with  loud  replies 

Denying  entrance,  as  his  orders  were; 

He  would  be  left  alone  and  undisturbed 

With  memory  and  thought  of  Gwendolaine. 

"  What  sweetness  infinite  beneath  the  ebb 

And  flow  of  moods,"  he  said,  half  audibly; 

"  What  truth  beneath  her  laughter  and  her  mirth ! 

I  ask  but  that  her  nature  be  fulfilled, 

That  is  enough  for  me ;  it  matters  not 

If  I  may  only  see  her  from  afar. 

My  love  was  sent  to  vivify  her  life, 

Not  to  imperil,  and  to  make  no  claim 

Of  her  but  her  unfolding ;  to  remind 

Her  soul  of  its  immortal  heritage, 

And  teach  her  joy, —  she  knew  but  merriment. 

And  this,  meseems,  it  hath  done,  Christ  be  praised ! 

44 


SANPEUR. 

Her  soul  asserts  itself  through  her  gay  life, 

And  joy  pervades  her, —  she  is  radiant. 

How    wonderful    she    looked,    last    night,    at 

Camelot ! 
She  moved  in  glowing  beauty  like  a  star." 

And  with  the  vision  of  her  in  his  heart, 
In  all  the  splendour  of  her  state  and  pride, 
In  golden-threaded  samite  strewn  with  pearls, 
He  turned,  in  the  quick  pacing  of  his  walk, 
And  faced  her  in  her  simple  russet  gown, 
Her  hair  unbound,  and  blowing  in  the  wind, 
Her  cheeks  as  colourless  as  white  May  flowers, 
Save  on  the  one  a  deep  and  crimson  stain. 
"  My  God ! "  he  cried,  and  caught  her  as  she  fell. 

She  told  the  story  of  her  bitter  wrong 
In  poignant  words  of  passionate  disdain. 


45 


UNDER    KING    CONSTANTINE. 

"And  I  have  come  straightway  to  you,  Sanpeur, — 
Having  more  faith  in  your  true  love  for  me 
Than  any  woman  ever  had  before 
In  love  of  man,  or  chivalry  of  knight, — 
To  tell  you  that  I  love  you  more  than  life. 
Long  have  I  loved  you,  well  I  know  it  now, 
Although  I  knew  it  not,  until  this  blow 
Stamped  it  in  blood  upon  my  mind  and  soul. 
I  rose  this  morn  resolved  to  be  more  true 
To  your  high  thought  of  womanhood,  and  wife, 
To  bear  with  Torm  more  patiently,  and  strive 
To  make  my  life  more  worthy  of  your  love ; 
And  then, —  God  help  me, —  my  resolve  was  crushed 
By  Torm's  fierce  hand,  and  love  for  you  set  free. 
Yea,  now  my  heart  is  sure, —  beyond  all  doubt, 
Beyond  all  question  and  all  fear  of  men, — 
That  I,  for  ever,  love  you  utterly. 
Take  me,  beloved,  I  am  yours,  I  want, 
46 


SANPEUR. 

I  need,  I  pant,  I  tremble  for  your  care. 
O  meet  me  not  so  coldly!  I  shall  die 
If  you  repulse  me ;  I  have  come  so  far 
And  fast,  without  a  fear, —  I  loved  you  so, — • 
To  seek  the  blessed  shelter  of  your  arms. 
My  brain  is  dizzy,  and  my  senses  fail; 
For  God's  sake  tell  me  you  are  glad  I  came 
To  you  —  and  only  you  —  in  my  despair." 

He  took  her  hands,  full  tenderly,  and  said, — 

His  eyes  alone  embracing  her  the  while, — 

"Beloved  Gwendolaine,  loved  far  above 

All  women  on  the  earth,  loved  with  a  love 

That  words  would  but  conceal,  were  they  essayed, 

Soul  of  my  soul,  and  spirit  of  myself, 

If  I  am  cold,  you  know  it  is  in  truth 

A  cold  that  burns  more  deeply  than  all  fire. 

Deep-stirred  am  I  that  you  could  trust  me  so, 

7  47 


UNDER   KING  CONST4NTINE. 

And  you  will  trust  me  yet,  dear,  when  I  say 
You  must  go  back  to  your  brave  lord,  Sir  Torm." 

"Back  to  Sir  Torm!"  she  said,  in  a  half  dream. 
"  O  Blessed  Virgin,  Mother  of  the  Christ ! 
Save  me  and  keep  me  from  the  bitter  shame 
Of  such  humiliation  to  my  soul." 

"  No  deed  done  for  the  right,  my  Gwendolaine, 

Can  bring  humiliation  to  a  soul. 

Sir  Torm  has  loved  you  long  and  loyally  — " 

"  He  knows  not  how  to  love,"  she  said  in  scorn. 

"He  knows  his  way,  and  in  it  loves  you  well; 
Your  wit  and  beauty  are  his  chiefest  pride; 
He  would  refuse  you  nothing  you  could  ask 
To  gratify  your  pleasure  and  desire. 
He  brought  you  from  a  narrow,  hidden  lot, 
To  share  with  you  his  honours  at  the  court. 
48 


SANPEUR. 

You  will  not  let  all  that  be  wiped  away 
By  one  swift  deed  of  anger,  which  Sir  Torm 
Has  bitterly  repented  and  bewailed 
Full  long  ere  this ;  of  that  you  are  right  sure, 
Because  you  know  his  loving  heart's  rebound." 

"To  live  with  him,  Sanpeur,  would  now  be  death." 

"  Naught  can  bring  death  to  immortality 
But  sin, —  and  life  with  me,  my  Gwendolaine, 
Would  be  the  death  of  all  we  hold  most  high." 

"Jesu  have  mercy!  Sanpeur  casts  me  off; 

He  does  not  love  me!     I  have  dreamed  it  all." 

Sanpeur  said  almost  sternly,  "  Gwendolaine, 
Unsay  that;  it  is  false!     You  know  full  well 
How  far  I  love  you  above  thought  of  self; 
If  I  half  loved  you,  I  would  fold  you  close." 

"It  is  unsaid,  Sanpeur;  but  woe  is  me 

49 


UNDER  KING   CONSTANTINE. 

That  I  should  fall  so  far  from  my  estate 
To  plead  in  vain  with  any  man,  hovve'er 
He  love ;  where  is  my  pride,  my  boasted  pride  ?  " 

"  'T  is  in  my  heart,,  if  anywhere,  my  love." 

"  I  can  not  go,  Sanpeur.  Torm  forfeited 
His  right  to  loyalty  by  cruelty." 

"The  debt  of  loyalty  is  due  to  self, 
And  we  must  well  fulfil  it,  Gwendolaine, 
No  matter  how  another  may  have  failed." 

A  sudden  horror  crossed  her  thought, —  "Sanpeur, 
You  do  not  love  me  less  that  I  have  come  ?  " 

"  Ah !  my  beloved  woman-child,  I  know 

Your  many-sided  nature  far  too  well 

To  judge  you  or  condemn  you  by  one  act, 

Born  of  a  frenzied  moment  of  despair; 

When  the  true  Gwendolaine  has  time  to  think, 

5° 


SANPEUR. 

Naught  I  could   urge  would   keep    her,  though   she 
came." 

"But  Torm  would  kill  me  if  I  did  return" — 

"  Leave  that  to  me ;  but  if  he  should,  my  love, 
Your  soul  would  then  be  free, —  what  ask  you  more? 
Now  you  are  weary,  very  weary,  sweet; 
Go  in  the  castle,  let  me  call  my  dames 
To  tend  and  serve  you  until  morning  light; 
And  on  the  morrow  you  will  choose  to  go 
With  me,  I  am  full  sure,  and  make  your  peace 
With  Torm,  as  worthy  of  your  better  self." 

,/ 

"  With  you  ?     O  God !     Sanpeur,  if  I  return, 

I  go  alone  as  I  have  come !     Think  you 

That   I  would  take  you  with  me   to   your  death  ?  " 

"  My  life  is  yours, —  how  use  it  better,  dear, 
Than  winning  peace  and  happiness  for  you  ?  " 

51 


UNDER   KING  CONSTANTINE. 
"  But  it  would  be  keen  misery  for  life "  — 

"It  leadeth  unto  happiness  and  peace 

In  the  far  future,  if  we  fail  not  now. 

This  life  is  but  the  filling  of  a  trust, 

To  prove  us  worthy  of  the  life  beyond, 

And  happiness  is  never  to  be  sought. 

If  it  comes, —  well;  if  not,  we  shall  know  Avhy. 

When  we  are  happy  in  the  sight  of  God." 

Then  there  was  silence  on  the  battlements; 
No  sound  was  heard  but  the  slow  measured  clang 
Of  feet  that  paced  the  stony  path  below  ;  — 
Gwendolaine  pushed  aside  the  wind-blown  hair 
From  her  wild  eyes,  and  gazed  into  Sanpeur's. 
As  the  slow  minutes  passed  the  frenzied  mood 
Faded  away  from  her  like  fevered  dream ; 
With  hands  clasped  in  a  passion  of  devout, 


S4NPEUR. 

Complete  surrender,  falling  at  his  feet 

She  whispered,  brokenly,  between  her  sobs; 

"Sanpeur,  I  will  go  back  to  Torm, —  for  you, — 

Go  back  and  live  my  life  as  best  I  may, 

If  he  forgive  me ;  —  and  if  not,  receive 

The  condemnation  of  my  fault  as  meet. 

Your  love  has  done  what  love  should  ever  do, — 

Illumined  duty's  path,  and  its  far  goal, 

Hid  for  a  moment  by  a  dark  despair. 

I  thought  I  loved  you  perfectly  before, 

But  my  soul  tells  me,  deep  below  the  pain, 

I  love  you  more  than  if  you  bade  me  stay." 

He  took  her  hands  and  kissed  them  tenderly 
With  quiet  kisses,  long  and  calm,  which  held 
Sure  promise  of  the  strength  he  fain  would  give; 
Then,  bending  o'er  her  yearningly,  he  said 

S3 


UNDER   KING   CONST4NTINE. 

In  tones  that  stilled  her  spirit  into  rest, 
"  God  guard  you,  my  beloved,  evermore." 
A  new  force  flowed  into  her  soul  from  his. 

She  rose  and  left  him. 

He  gave  orders  strict 

For  her  best  comfort;  then  walked  out  alone, 
To  meet  and  wrestle  with  his  passion,  held 
So  long  in  leash  by  honour,  free  at  last 
With  overmastering  and  giant  strength. 
The  subtle  fragrance  of  her  hands  pervades 
His  senses;  in  his  veins  he  feels  the  flow 
Of  her  warm  breath,  which  entered  into  them 
That  moment  he  had  caught  her  as  she  fell; 
Her  words  of  love  sweep  like  a  surging  tide 
Across  the  quiet  of  his  self-control. 
When  she  was  there,  his  love  for  her  had  kept 

34 


S/tNPEUR. 

His  passion  from  uprising,  though  against 
His  pleading  heart,  so  long  her  pleading  seemed. 
Now  she  is  gone,  all  calm  and  thought  are  lost 
In  the  impassioned  wish  for  her,  the  thirst 
To  drink  the  sweetness  of  her  deep,  rich  soul, 
Without  a  thought  of  Torm,  or  all  the  world. 
Sanpeur's  well-rounded  nature  is  triune, 
And  flesh  and  sense  as  much  a  part  of  him 
As  his  clear  brain  and  spirit  consecrate. 
Passion  for  once  asserts  itself;  he  starts, 
And  towards  the  castle  strides  with  rapid  steps; 
"  She  is  my  own,  Fate  sent  her  here  to  me ; 
I  cannot  war  against  it  any  more; 
I  will  go  in  and  fold  her  to  myself." 

He  clasps  his  empty  arms  upon  his  breast, 

In  the  abandonment  of  wild  desire, 

And  feels,  beneath  the  pressure  of  his  hands, 

*  55 


UNDER   KING   CONST/1NT1NE. 

The  sacred  Order  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

"  Good  Lord,  deliver  me  from  sin,"  he  cries, 

And  bows  his  knightly  head  in  silent  prayer. 

No  earnest  soul  can  ask  and  not  receive : 
Before  the  warden's  deep-toned  voice  calls  out 
Another  watch,  Sanpeur  has  overcome. 

He  passed  his  night  beneath  the  silent  stars, 
Below  the  resting-room  of  Gwendolaine, 
Who  lay  within  his  castle,  loving  him, 
While  he  kept  watch,  to  guard  her  from  himself. 

Just  ere  the  morning  light,  there  was  a  cry 
From  his  most  faithful  seneschal  to  rouse 
The  vassals  to  defend  the  brave  Sanpeur, 
Loved  loyally ;  and  from  the  battlements 
He  saw  Sir  Torm,  waging  a  savage  fight 
To  win  an  entrance  through  his  castle  gate. 
56 


SANPEUR. 

With  hurried  steps  he  reached  the  gate,  and  with 
The  cry, —  drowned  by  the  din  of  clashing  arms, — 
"  Withhold !  it  is  a  friend,"  he  threw  himself 
Before  Sir  Torm,  and  took  the  mortal  wound 
That  had  been  aimed  by  his  own  seneschal. 

"Let  fighting  cease;  hurt  not  Sir  Torm!"  he  cried, 

And  fell  into  the  arms  of  grim  old  Ule, 

Who  pierced  his  own  soul  when  he  wounded  him. 

A  sudden  sound  of  wailing  rent  the  court; 
The  dames  flocked  from  the  castle  in  dismay, 
And  with  them  came  the  Lady  Gwendolaine, 
A  pace  or  two,  and  then  stood  motionless; 
Her  limbs,  that  brought  her  quickly  to  confront 
The  evil  she  had  wrought,  grew  powerless; 
Her  wide,  tense  gaze  was  as  of  one  who  walks 
In  sleep  unseeing;  her  dishevelled  hair 

57 


UNDER   KING    CONSTANT1NE. 

Veiled  the  abandon  of  her  dress;  her  cheeks 

Were  colourless  as  marble,  but  for  the  stain 

Of  crimson.     Paralysed  and  dumb  she  stood, 

Too  far  to  reach  him,  but  full  near  to  hear, 

As  Sanpeur,  having  lifted  hand  to  hush 

The  wailing,  broke  the  silence  rapidly, 

Like  one  who  feels  his  time  for  speech  is  short. 

"  In  Christ's  dear  name,  who  alway  doth  forgive, 
I  pray  you,  hear  me  speak  one  word,  Sir  Torm." 

There  was  a  force  within  Sir  Sanpeur's  eyes 

Sir  Torm  dared  not  resist.     "  Speak  on,"  he  said. 

"  Your  wife,  my  lord,  is  here,  and  in  my  care ; 
She  came  to  me  scarce  knowing  what  she  did, — 
Wounded,  and  driven  to  a  wild  despair 
By  your  quick  anger,  which  has  stamped  its  sea1 
Upon  the  perfect  beauty  of  her  face. 
58 


S4NPEUR. 

The  cause  of  that  fierce  blow  she  told  me  not; 

Be  what  it  may,  I  know  full  well,  my  lord, 

It  could  not  merit  such  a  harsh  retort 

To  wife  whose  loyalty  and  troth  to  you 

Have  been  the  marvel  of  the  court;  whose  name, 

Her  beauty  notwithstanding,  has  been  held 

As  high  from  stain  as  she  has  e'er  held  yours. 

She  has  not  failed  to  you  until  this  hour, 

When  she  was  not  herself  for  one  brief  space, 

Mad  with  the  fever  in  her  heated  brain. 

You  long  have  known  I  loved  her, — none  could  well 

Withhold  the  tribute  of  his  life  from  her, — 

And  you  must  know,  my  lord,  beyond  all  doubt, 

I  loved  her  with  a  love  that  honoured  you 

In  thought,  in  word,  in  purpose,  and  in  deed. 

She  came  to  me  because  her  trust  in  me 

Was  absolute  as  knowledge  that  my  love 

Was  measureless.     I  would  not  plead,  Sir  Torm, 

59 


UNDER   KING  CONST4NTINE. 

Excuse  for  sin;  alas!  I  know  her  act 
Was  most  unworthy  of  her  truer  self. 
But  this  I  say  —  he  should  not  blame  her  most 
Who  drove  her  to  this  deed  against  herself. 
And  I  will  tell  you, —  should  it  chance  you  fail 
To  know  from  your  own  knowledge  of  your  wife, 
Without  the  need  of  confirmation  sure, — 
That  when  her  passionate,  poor,  wounded  heart 
Had  time  and  strength  to  reassert  itself, 
Her  memory,  and  truth  to  you  as  wife, 
Enwrapt  her  once  again,  and  she  withdrew 
E'en  from  the  love  that,  trusting,  she  had  sought. 
She  lay  within  my  castle  with  my  dames, 
Resting,  and  waiting  for  the  dawn  of  day, 
When  she  had  bade  me  lead  her  back  to  you, 
That  she  might  ask  forgiveness  for  her  fault. 
Now,  by  my  knighthood  and  the  sign  I  wear, 
I  speak  the  truth,  Sir  Torm!  —  With  my  last  breath 
60 


SANPEUR. 

I  pray  you  grant  her  pardon,  for  my  sake, 

Who  die,  to  save  you,  of  wounds  meant  for  you." 

His  breath  came  slower.     None  beholding  him 

Could  doubt  him,  for  within  his  steadfast  eyes, 

Though  growing  dim  with  coming   death,  was   that 

The  Order  on  his  bosom  symbolised. 

Torm  bowed  before  him,  silent,  with  a  sense 

Of  hallowed  presence  from  beyond  this  earth. 

Convinced  of  Sanpeur's  truth,  there  flashed  on  him 

The  revelation  of  a  better  life 

Than  self-indulgence  and  the  pride  of  arms ; 

And  here,  at  last,  before  the  passing  soul, 

Strong  in  its  purity  and  in  its  peace, 

He  felt  a  new-born  and  a  deep  desire 

For  truer  life  than  he  had  ever  known. 

After  the  whisper,  "  God  shield  Gwendolaine," 
The  slow  breath  ceased. 

61 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANTINE. 

With  shrill  and  piercing  cry 

Gwendolaine  broke  the  strange,  benumbing  trance 
That  had  withheld  her;  rushing  from  the  dames 
And  falling  prone  upon  the  silent  form 
That  gave  her  heart  no  answering  throb,  she  cried, 
With  voice  grief-pierced  and  sorrow-broken,  "  Wait 
For  Gwendolaine,  O  Sanpeur !    Wait  for  Gwendolaine, 
And  take  her  with  you  unto  death !  " 

She  lay 

In  silent  desolation  on  his  breast, 
So  still,  awhile,  they  thought  her  spirit  gone; 
Then  rose  majestic  in  the  dignity 
Of  her  incomparable  grief. 

"Sir  Torm," 

She  said  in  tense,  surcharged  tones,  "  Sanpeur 
Has  told  but  half  the  story ;  he  forgot 
To  tell,  as  noble  souls  are  wont  to  do, 

6a 


SANPEUR. 

The  measure  of  his  own  nobility. 

I  came  to  stay,  my  lord,  to  be  his  wife, 

His  serving-maid,  his  mistress, —  what  he  would; 

I  told  him  that  I  loved  him  beyond  men; 

I  pleaded  and  entreated  him,  in  vain, 

To  keep  and  hold  me  evermore.     No  word 

Could  move  him,  no  allurement  charm;  he  bade 

Me  wait  the  dawn  and  then  return  to  you, 

To  beg  you  with  humility  for  grace, 

And  pardon  for  my  utter  want  of  truth, 

Complete  forgetfulness  of  womanhood, 

And  wifely  loyalty.     My  lord,  Sir  Torm, 

I  promised  him  !  and  by  his  silent  corse, — 

And  with  a  broken  heart, —  I  pray  that  you 

Will  grant  me  pardon,  though  you  cast  me  off." 

"  My  Gwendolaine,"  Torm  answered  quickly,  moved 
By  an  uplifting  impulse  in  his  soul, — 


UNDER    KING    CONSTANTINE. 

"  For  you  are  mine,  whomever  you  may  love, — 
I  know  that  Sir  Sanpeur  did  speak  the  truth ; 
You  have  not  sinned  in  deed;^and  though  you  sinned 
In  purpose,  it  was  more  my  fault  than  yours; 
I  drove  you  to  it,  and  would  fain  atone. 
Return  with  me,  and  help  me  overcome, 
And  with  my  temper  I  will  tilt,  until 
I  die  or  kill  it.     By  the  Blood  of  Christ, 
I  swear  to  you  that  you  shall  love  me  yet; 
For  I  will  be, —  God  help  me, —  worthier." 

Back  to  their  home  she  went  with  Torm,  and  strove 
With  gracious  sweetness  to  make  him  forget ; 
To  banish  his  keen  memory  of  her  love 
For  Sir  Sanpeur,  not  by  disproving  it, 
But  by  new  proving  of  new  love  for  him. 
The  greater  made  her  rich  to  give  the  less ; 
She,  being  more,  had  still  the  more  to  give. 


SANPEUR. 

The  apocalyptic  vision  granted  her 

Of  Love  immortal,  vital  and  supreme, — 

Kept  by  the  grace  of  God  all  undenled, — 

Had  dowered  her  with  largess;  what  she  gave, 

Albeit  not  the  utmost,  was  more  worth 

Than  best  had  been  from  her  starved  soul  before. 

Sir  Torm  was  helped  in  his  self-given  task  — 
To  struggle  with  ill  humours  and  with  pride — 
Far  more  by  her  new  gentleness  and  grace 
Than  he  had  been  by  waywardness  and  scorn 
And  fitful  fascination,  as  of  old. 
To  help  Torm  was  her  life's  new  quest,  and  well 
Did  she  essay  to  gain  it. 

When  the  tide 

Of  sorrow  for  Sanpeur  would  over-sweep 
Her  heart ;  and  when,  sometimes,  Sir  Torm  would  lapse 
65 


UNDER    KING   CONSTANTINE. 

Into  forgetfulness  of  his  resolve, 
Confronting  her  o'ercome  with  wine  or  wrath, 
Low  to  herself  she  whispered  Sanpeur's  words, 
"  Life  is  the  filling  of  a  trust,"  and  straight 
Her  soul  grew  strong  again. 

From  year  to  year, 

Beneath  her  planting  and  her  fostering, 
Torm's  nature  blossomed,  and  his  manhood  grew 
More  fine,  more  fruitful.     Men,  at  last,  could  mark 
In  his  whole  bearing  greater  dignity; 
And  Constantine  once  gave  him,  for  some  feat, 
A  brilliant  Order,  with  the  meaning  words, 
"  The  greatest  conquest  is  to  conquer  self." 

But  there  was  one  deep  shadow  in  his  life: 

Upon  the  lovely  face  of  Gwendolaine 

Were  two  long,  narrow,  seamed  scars.     One  day 

66 


SANPEUR. 

He  touched  them  tenderly,  and   said,  "  God's  faith, 

I  would  give  all  but  knighthood  to  efface 

Those  hellish  scars  that  mar  your  peerless  cheek." 

She  turned  her  head  quick  to  his  hand's  embrace, 

Buried  her  cheek  within  its  palm,  and  said, 

"  Those  scars,  my  Torm,  I  would  not  now  resign 

For  any  dower  that  the  world  could  give; 

They  are  the  Order  of  my  higher  life, 

The  birthmarks  cf  your  new  nobility." 


KATHANAL. 


KATHANAL. 

THE  sky  was  one  unbroken  pall  of  gray, 
Casting  a  gloom  upon  the  restless  sea, 
Dulling  her  sapphire  splendour  to  a  dark 
And  minor  beauty.     All  the  rock-bound  shore 
Was  silent,  save  a  widowed  song-bird  sang 
Far  off  at  intervals  a  mournful  note, 
And  on  the  broken  crags  of  dark  gray  rock 
The  waves  dashed  ceaselessly.     Sir  Kathanal 
Stood  with  uncovered  head  and  folded  arms, 
His  soul  as  restless  as  the  surging  sea 
Lashed  into  passion  by  the  coming  storm. 
His  helmet /lay  upon  the  sand;  its  crest, 
A  floating  plume  of  deep-hued  violet, 
Was  tossed  and  torn  in  fury  by  the  wind 

10  71 


UNDER   KING   CONST4 NTINE. 

Until  it  seemed  a  thing  of  life.     He  stood 

And  watched  it,  only  half  aware  at  first 

That  it  was  there,  then  scarce  aware  of  aught 

Besides  the  plume.     As  in  the  room  of  death 

Some  iterated  sound  or  motion  holds 

Attent  the  stricken  mind,  benumbed,  and  keeps 

The  horror  of  its  grief  awhile  at  bay 

As  by  a  spell,  so  now,  though  Kathanal 

Had  sought  the  sea-shore  to  be  free  of  men 

Because  of  his  sore  agony  of  heart, 

And  all  the  passion  of  his  daring  soul 

Was  tossing  like  the  sea  in  fierce  revolt, 

His    thoughts    and    gaze    were    centred    on    his 

crest. 

Before  the  gray  of  sea  and  sky  he  saw 
Naught  but  the  waving,  waving  of  the  plume ; 
Before  the  vision  of  his  love,  Leorre, 
Her  tender,  eyes  aglow  with  changeless  light, 


KATHAUAL. 

The  golden  splendour  of  her  sunny  hair, 
Her  winning  smiles  of  grace  and  sweetness  blent, 
There  came  the  waving,  waving  of  the  plume; 
Between  his  sorrow  and  his  weary  soul, 
Between  his  trouble  and  his  clear-eyed  self, 
There  came  the  waving,  waving  of  the  plume ; 
Until  he  felt,  in  some  half-conscious  way, 
It  was  his  heart,  and  he  a  stranger  there 
That  looked  down,  from  a  height,  indifferent 
Upon  it  at  the  mercy  of  the  wind. 

Sudden,  with  that  long  lingering  trace  of  youth 

That  gave  to  him  the  fascinating  charm 

Which  other  men  were  £ain  to  emulate, 

He  quickly  stooped,  and  tore  it  from  his  helm, 

And  cast  it  far  out  on  the  tossing  sea. 

It  lighted  on  the  waves  a  purple  bird, 

Floating  with  swan-like  grace  before  the  wind. 

73 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANTINE. 

The  action  quenched  impatience.     Kathanal, 
Impulsive,  passionate  and  sensitive, 
In  moods  was  ever  ready  with  response 
To  omen  and  to  change  of  circumstance. 
He  stood  a  moment,  and  then  forward  sprang 
To  catch  it  ere  it  vanished  out  of  reach. 
It  was  too  late — the  outward-flowing  tide 
Bore  it  from  wave  to  wave  beyond  his  sight. 

"Ah,  God!"  he  cried  aloud,  "what  have  I  done? 
It  is  the  omen  of  a  curse  to  me; 
My  crest  is  gone,  my  knightly  symbol  lost, 
My  helm  dishonoured  through  an  act  of  mine." 

Then  came  the  memory  of  early  youth, 
The  recollection  of  a  high  resolve 
To  keep  his  manhood  free  from  touch  of  stain, 
To  be  a  knight  like  Galahad,  pure  and  true. 

74 


KATHANAL. 

So  few  short  years  had  passed  since  that  resolve, 
And  yet  he  had  forgotten  loyalty 
And  truth  and  honour  for  the  fair  Leorre, 
The  wife  of  Reginault,  his  patron  knight, — 
The  brave  old  man  who  treated  him  as  son. 
Long  had  he  loved  her  with  a  knightly  love, 
And  fought  for  her,  and  chosen  her  the  queen 
Of  many  a  tournament.     She  still  was  young, 
Fairer  than  morning  in  the  early  spring. 
When    she    had   come,   a    gladsome    bride,    to 

grace 

The  castle  of  old  Reginault,  and  warm 
His  grand  old  spirit  into  youth  again, 
Sir  Kathanal  had  bowed  before  her,  saying, 
"My  gracious  lady,  take  me  as  your  knight"; 
And    she    had    answered,    with    her    winning 

smile, 
"You  are  Sir  Reginault's,  and  therefore  mine." 

75 


UNDER   KING  CONSTANTINO. 

Well  had  he  loved  her  from  that  very  hour, 
Giving  her  honour  as  his  old  friend's  bride, 
Making  the  castle  ring  with  merriment 
To  do  her  service,  and  fulfil  the  hest 
Of  Reginault,  who  bade  him  use  his  grace 
To  make  her  life  a  round  of  holidays. 
But  day  by  day  his  selfish  love  had  grown 
From  friendly  service  to  a  lover's  claim, 
Until  he  had  forgotten  Reginault 
In  her  fair  eyes,  and  all  things  else  but  her, 
Who  granted  him  no  boon,  no  smallest  act 
Of  love  or  tenderness. 

At  last  the  strife 

Between  deep  yearning  for  some  touch  of  love, 
And  brave  endeavour  for  self-mastery, 
Had  driven  him  to  madness  and  despair. 

To  the  lone  sea  he  brought  his  agony 

76 


KATHANAL. 

To  face  it  boldly,  and  his  spirit,  quick 

To  wear  new  moods,  caught  a  despondent  gloom 

From  the  dark  omen  that  oppressed  his  soul. 

"  Love  is  divine,"  he  said,  "  and  it  is  well 
To  love  Leorre,  wife  though  she  be,  for  love 
Is  free  to  noble  natures;  but  at  last, 
When  in  her  shining  eyes  I  see  response, 
Albeit  unconscious,  to  my  longing  pain, 
I  cannot  rest  content  with  boonless  love, 
Although  divine.     I  fear  me,  if  I  stay 
Within  the  circle  of  her  tempting  charm, 
I  shall,  through  some  wild  impulse,  wantonly 
Fling  my  unsullied  knighthood  to  the  winds, 
As  now  I  flung  the  plume  from  out  my  helm." 

He  went  at  even-song  time  to  Leorre, 
And  told  her  of  his  struggle  by  the  sea, 
Of  his  determined  purpose  and  resolve. 


UNDER    KING  CONSTANTINE. 

"  Leorre,  I  love  you  with  a  love  unsung 

By  poets,  and  unknown  by  other  men, 

Undreamed  by  women ;   I  must  leave  you,  dear; 

I  cannot  see  you  fair  for  Reginault, 

I  cannot  watch  your  sweetness  not  for  me. 

I  will  go  far  upon  some  distant  quest 

Until  this  frenzy  ceases,  and  the  quest 

Shall  be  for  you,  my  love,  for  you  alone. 

"  Dear,  sunny  head  that  lights  my  darkened  way 

With  its  bright,  golden  glory,  let  me  seek 

A  crown  that  well  befits  it  for  my  quest. 

Fair  waist  that  curves  beneath  the  heart  I  love, 

I  shall  engirdle  you  with  priceless  gems 

Won  by  my  prowess  for  your  perfect  grace. 

O    wondrous    neck !     great    lustrous,    flawless 

pearls, 

That  shall  be  royal  in  their  worth,  to  match 
78 


KATHANAL. 

The  white  enchantment  of  your  beauty  fair, 
Shall  be  my  quest  for  you. 

"  I  will  not  come 

Back  to  the  court  of  Constantine,  Leorre, 
Until  I  bring  that  which  shall  honour  you, 
And  winning  which,  I  shall  have  cooled  my  pain." 

She  came  and  knelt  beside  him,  took  his  hand, 
.Looked  deep  into  his  ardent  eyes, — her  own 
Like  stars  that  shone  into  his  inmost  soul. 

"Will  you,  indeed,  go  forth,"  she  answered  low, 
"Across  the  world  upon  a  quest  for  me? 
And  will  you  falter  not,  nor  swerve,  nor  fail, 
Nor  turn  aside  from  seeking,  night  nor  day, 
Until  you  conquer  with  your  prowess  rare 
The  prize  for  me?     And  may  I  choose  the  quest 
I  most  desire  ?  " 

ii  79 


UNDER    KING    CONST4NTIN  E. 

"Ah!  surely,  what  you  will," 
Said  Kathanal,  as  echo  to  his  eyes, 
Which  answered  ere  the  words  could  form  themselves. 

She  waited,  silently;  the  room  was  still; 
Sir  Kathanal  was  faint  from  drinking  deep, 
With  thirsty  eyes,  the  beauty  of  her  face. 

At  last  she  spoke,  almost  inaudibly, 

But  evermore  the  thought  of  her  low  speech 

Made  melody  within  his  memory. 

"  Go  forth,  my  knight  of  love,  o'er  land  a»d  sea, 
And  purify  your  spirit  and  your  life, 
And  seek  until  you  find  the  Holy  Grail, 
Keeping  the  vision  ever  in  your  thought, 
The  inspiration  ever  in  your  soul. 
Let  Tristram  yield  his  loyalty  and  honour 
so 


KATHAN/IL. 

For  fair  Isoud,  and  die  inglorious, — 
Let  Launcelot  in  Guenever's  embrace 
Forget  the  consecrated  vows  he  swore, 
And  bring  dark  desolation  on  the  land, — 
My  knight  must  grow  the  greater  through  his 

love, 

The  better  for  my  favour,  the  more  pure ! 
More  than  all  gifts,  or  wealth  of  royal  dower, 
I  want,  I  crave,  I  claim  this  boon  of  thee." 

Between    the    bronze-brown    of   his    eyes    and 

her, 

There  sudden  came  a  faint  and  misty  veil; 
Through  the  wide-open  window  a  sun's  beam 
Flashed  on  it,  making  o'er  her  bowed  head 
A  halo  from  his  own  unfallen  tears. 
He  rose  and  lifted  her,  loosed  her  sweet  hands, 
And  fell  upon  his  knees  low  at  her  feet. 

81 


UNDER    KING   CONSTANTINE. 

"  Leorre,  my  love,  my  queen,  my  woman-saint, 

I  am  not  worthy,  but  I  take  your  quest; 

I  will  not  falter  and  I  will  not  swerve 

Until  I  see  the  Grail,  or  pass  to  where 

I  see  the  glory   it  but  symbols  here, 

In  Paradise.     Beloved,  all  the  world 

Is  better  for  your  living,  all  the  air 

Is  sweeter  for  your  breathing,  and  all  love 

Is  holier,  purer,  that  you  may  be  loved." 

"Rise,  Kathanal,  stand  still  and  let  me  gaze 
Upon  you  with  that  purpose  in  your  face! 
So  brave,  so  resolute!     I  love  you,  Kathanal! 
Nay !  do  not  touch  me,  listen  to  my  words ! 
Surely  it  cannot  be  a  sin  to  speak, 
Perchance  it  is  a  debt  I  owe  my  knight 
For  his  life's  consecration,  once  to  say 
To  him,  as  I  have  said  to  my  own  heart, 

Just  how  I  love  him. 

82 


K ATM  ANAL. 

"  I  would  follow  you 
Across  the  world,  if  it  might  be,  a  slave, 
To  serve  you  at  your  bidding  night  and  day; 
Or  I  would  rouse  me  to  my  highest  pride 
That  I  might  be  your  queen,  and  lead  you  on 
To  glory.     I  am  strong  to  do  and  bear 
The  uttermost  my  mind  can  think,  for  you, 
To    cheer    you,    help    you,    strengthen    you ;    and 

yet  — 

I  am  a  woman,  and  my  senses  thrill 
If  you  but  touch  the  border  of  my  robe, 
And  if  you  take  my  hand,  before  the  court, 
And  raise  it  to  your  lips,  I  faint,  I  die, 
With  the  vast  tide  of  my  unconquered  love." 

"  Great  Christ !  how  can  I  hear  you  and  depart  ? 
I  did  not  know  you  loved  me.     O  my  sweet, 
Here  by  your  side  I  stay;  my  quest  shall  be 
The  love-light  dawning  in  your  shining  eyes." 

83 


UNDER    KING    CONSTANT1NE. 

"  Is  this  your  answer,  Kathanal,"  she  sighed, 
"To  the  unveiling  of  my  heart  of  hearts? 
No !  now,  if  ever,  you  will  surely  go 
On  the  sole  quest  that  makes  that  action  right." 

"  Leorre,  come  once  to  me ! "  he  said  with  arms 
Outstretched  to  her.     Quickly  she  backward  drew 
With  one  swift  whispered  "  Kathanal !  " 

"  Leorre, 

You  cannot  love  and  be  so  calm  and  still; 
My  soul  would  sacrifice  both  earth  and  heaven 
For  one  full,  rapturous  kiss  from  those  sweet  lips 
That  lure  me  on  to  madness  by  their  spell." 

"  It  is  my  love  that  keeps  me  calm,"  she  said ; 
"  Love  makes  us  strong  for  what  is  bitterest ; 
Were  we  faint-hearted  through  imperfect  love 
We  could  not  part;  but  loving  perfectly 
We  are  full  strong  for  that,  and  all  things  else. 


KATHANAL. 

"  Farewell,  my  Kathanal,  take  as  you  go 

This  spotless  scarf,  the  girdle  from  my  robe, 

And  put  it  where  the  purple  plume  has  been, 

And  wear  it  as  my  favour  in  your  helm. 

If  that  lost  plume  was  darksome  omen  ill, 

Let  this  defy  it  with  an  omen  fair, 

A  prophecy  to  spur  you  on  your  quest. 

My  heart  says  it  is  better  as  it  is; 

I  joy  me  that  you  flung  into  the  sea 

That  purple  plume  my  loving,  longing  gaze 

Has  often  followed  in  the  tournament. 

Remember,  purple  doth  betoken  pain, 

And  white  betokens  conquest,  purity; 

Look,  Kathanal,  beloved,  in  my  eyes ! 

I  know  that  you  will  find  the  Holy  Grail." 

She  stood  immaculate,  and  from  those  eyes 
That  oft  had  kindled  passionate  desire 

8S 


UNDER   KING  CONSTANTINE. 

He  drew  an  inspiration  high  and  pure, 

A  prescient  sense  of  victory  and  peace; 

And  falling  on  his  knees  once  more,  he  bowed, 

Kissed  her  white  robe,  and  left  her  standing  there. 

Then  followed  days  of  struggle  and  dark  gloom. 

Far  from  the  court  he  found  a  lonely  cell, 

Where    morn    and   night    he    prayed,   and,  praying, 

wrought 

A  score  of  earnest,  unrecorded  deeds 
To  purify  and  cleanse  himself  from  sin. 

Oft  the  old  passion  would  arise  and  sweep 
His  spirit  bare  of  every  conquest.     Once 
The  longing  and  the  yearning  were  so  great, 
So  strong  beyond  all  thought  of  holiness, 
He  sprang  up  from  his  bed  at  dead  of  night 
And  stopped  not,  night  nor  day,  until  he  reached 
His  old  home  by  the  sea,  and  saw  Leorre. 

86 


KATHAUAL. 

Her  hair  had  its  untarnished  golden  glow, 

Her  beauty  was  unchanged,  but  her  sweet  mouth 

Had  caught  a  touch  of  pathos  in  its  smile ; 

She  wore  a  purple  robe,  and  stood  in  state 

Beside  Sir  Reginault, —  who  greeted  him 

With  tender,  grave,  and  kind  solicitude, — 

And  lifted  eyes  that  smote  upon  his  heart 

With  a  long  gaze  of  passionate  appeal 

That  held  a  pain  at  bay  deep  in  their  depths. 

"  So  weak,"  he  whispered  to  his  heart,  "  for  self, 
I  will  be  strong  for  her;  she  needs  my  strength." 

Again  he  hurried  from  her  sight,  half  glad 
For  the  remembered  pain  within  her  eyes; 
Ashamed  of  his  own  soul  that  it  was  glad. 

For  years  he  struggled,  prayed,  and  fought  his  fight; 
And  sometimes  when  his  soul  was  desolate 

12  87 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANTIN E. 

And  he  was  weary  from  his  eager  quest, 
When  such  a  sense  of  deep  humility 
Would  fall  upon  his  praying,  watching  heart 
That  he  would  fain  forego  all  in  despair, 
A  marvellous  ray  of  light,  mysterious, 
Would  slant  athwart  the  darkness  of  his  cell, 
Then  he  would  rouse  him  to  his  quest  once  more 
And  say,  "  Perchance  the  Holy  Grail  is  near ! " 

One  night  at  midnight  came  the  ray  again, 
And  with  it  came  a  strange  expectancy 
Of  spirit  as  the  light  waxed  radiant. 
The  cell  was  filled  with  spicy  odours  sweet, 
And  on  the  midnight  stillness  song  was  borne 
As  sweet  as  heaven's  harmony  —  the  words, — 
The  same  Sir  Launcelot  had  heard  of  old, — 
"  Honour  and  joy  be  to  the  Father  of  Heaven." 
With  wide  eyes  searching  his  lone  cell  for  cause 


K AT  HA  HAL. 

He  waited :  as  the  ray  became  more  clear 

And  more  effulgent  than  the  mid-day  sun, 

He  trembled  with  that  chill  of  mortal  flesh 

Beholding  spiritual  things.     At  last — 

Now  vaguely  as  though  veiled  by  light,  and  then 

With  shining  clearness,  perfectly  —  he  saw 

The  sight  unspeakable,  transcending  words. 

Forth  from  his  barren  cell  came  Kathanal, 
Strong  and  inspired,  born  anew  for  deeds. 
Straightway  he  grew  to  be  the  bravest  knight 
Under  King  Constantine,  since  Sir  Sanpeur; 
The  boldest  in  the  battles  for  the  right; 
The  kindest  in  his  judgment  of  the  wrong. 
His  eyes  that  held  the  vision  of  the  Grail 
Were  ever  clear  to  see  and  know  the  truth; 
His  lips  that  had  been  touched  by  holy  chrism 
Were  strong  to  utter  holy  living  words; 


UNDER    KING  CONSTANTINE. 

He  sang  of  life  in  life,  and  life  in  death, 
And  taught  the  lesson  that  his  heart  had  learned  — 
All  love  should  be  a  glory,  not  a  doom; 
Love  for  love's  sake,  albeit  bliss-denied. 

To  his  old  home  beside  the  sapphire  sea 
Floated  his  songs  and  his  far-reaching  fame; 
For  in  the  land  no  name  was  loved  so  well 
As  Kathanal  the  peerless  Minstrel  Knight. 

Lone  in  her  chamber  sat  Leorre,  and  heard 
The  songs  of  Kathanal  by  courtiers  sung  — 
Arousing  words,  like  a  clear  clarion  call 
To  truth  and  virtue,  purity  and  faith. 
She  clasped  her  hands  and  bent  her  head,  and  wept 
In  silent  passion  pent-up  tears,  for  joy ; 
For  now  she  knew  —  far  off,  beyond  her  sight  — 
Her  love  had  seen  the  sacred  Holy  Grail. 
90 


KATHANAL. 

And,  as  she  listened,  inspiration  came, 

Irradiating  all  her  spirit,  lifting  it 

Beyond  her  sorrow  and  her  daily  want 

Of  Kathanal.     Soft  through  her  soul  there  crept 

The  echo  of  a  benedicite, 

Enwrapping  her  in  calm,  triumphant  peace. 

Then  she  arose,  put  on  her  whitest  robe, 
And  went  out  radiant,  strong,  and  full  of  joy. 


CHRISTALAN. 


CHRISTALAN. 

THE  yellow  sunlight,  coming  from  the  east, 
Through  the  great   Minster   windows,  arched 

and  high, 

That  tell  the  story  of  our  blessed  Lord 
In  colours  royal  with  significance, 
Takes  many  hues,  and  falls  upon  the  head 
Of  a  fair  boy  before  the  altar-rail. 
It  is  the  son  of  the  brave  knight  Noel, 
Cut  off,  alas!  too  early  in  his  prime, 
Now  lying  dead  beneath  yon  sculptured  stone, 
But  living  in  the  hearts  of  the  small  group 
In  the  old  Minster  on  this  sunny  morn. 
The  proud  young  head  is  bowed  in  reverence 
Before  the  holy  priest  of  God,  whose  face 

13  95 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANT1NE. 

Is  glowing  with  paternal  love  that  shines 
Through  dignity  of  the  official  calm. 
Who  loves  not  Christalan  for  his  blithe  grace?  — 
For  his  dear  eyes,  so  true,  so  fathomless, 
So  full  of  tenderness,  his  mother  thought 
They  were  the  reflex  of  the  steadfast  love 
She  bore  her  lord  Noel?     Who  loves  him  not 
For  his  bright  joyance  and  his  laughter  sweet? 

But  now  he  stands,  all  merry  laughter  stilled 
By  awe  that  groweth  slowly  in  his  eyes, 
In  silent  quietude,  a  knightly  lad, 
Clad  in  a  doublet  of  unspotted  white, 
Embroidered  at  the  breast  with  these  two  words, 
Wrought  by  his  mother's  hand,   Valiant  and  True. 
He  hears  at  last  the  stirring  words  that  move 
His  soul  as  it  has  never  yet  been  moved; 
Words  that  have  haunted  his  imagining 


CHRISTALAN. 

For  days  and  nights,  making  his  young  heart  yearn 

With  restless  longing  for  this  present  hour; 

Words  that  presage  the  glory  of  his  life, 

The  consecrated  purpose  of  his  youth 

In  its  fulfilment  and  accomplishment; 

The  holy,  sacred,  solemn,  early  vow 

Of  future  knighthood  for  the  noble  lad. 

And  now  his  father's  sword  is  shown  to  him; 

His  daring  spirit,  of  a  knightly  race, 

Leaps  out  to  grasp  it,  though  his  hand  may  not 

Until  he  grows  to  manhood.     O  the  years 

That  he  must  wait,  and  serve,  and  work  for  that! 

Why  is  it  not  to-morrow  ?     He  is  strong, 

And,  never  having  seenj;he  great,  wide  world, 

With  boyish  confidence,  that  is  the  germ 

All  undeveloped  of  man's  later  strength, 

He  feels  he  is  its  master.     For  a  space 

The  altar  and  the  holy  man  of  God 

97 


UNDER   KING   CONST4NTINE. 

Are  veiled  before  his  earnest,  searching  gaze, 
By  sudden  picture  which  his  fancy  paints: 
He  sees  a  tournament,  himself  a  knight  — 

"  God's  peace  be  with  thee,  valiant  boy  and  true ; 
In  the  name  of  God  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son 
And  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Amen." 

No  tilt 

Nor  tournament  before  his  vision  now, — 
Swift  in  his  boyish  heart,  so  full  of  dreams 
Of  fame,  there  springs  a  new,  intense  resolve 
Of  consecration,  an  unconscious  prayer 
For  God's  peace,  though  he  knows  not  what  it  means. 

The  Lady  Agathar  stands,  robed  in  black, 
Behind  the  buoyant  boy  she 'loves  so  well. 
She  still  has  youth,  and  beauty,  and  desire; 
But  each  full  throb  of  her  true,  wifely  heart 


CHRISTALAN. 

Beats  for  her  lord,  though  he  be  gone, —  all  else 

In  life  is  naught  to  her  but  Christalan, 

And  Greane,  the  winsome  maiden  by  her  side. 

Sweet    Greane's    heart    thrills    with    piide    of 

Christalan, 

And  with  the  spirit  of  the  solemn  scene ; 
But,  also,  with  a  fierce  rebellious  pang, 
That  she  is  but  a  useless,  silly  girl. 
She  wishes  she  too  had  been  born  a  lad, 
To  take  the  knightly  vow,  and  leave  the  home, 
And  go  forth  to  the  world  and  its  delight. 

Now  Christalan  turns  from  the  altar-rail 
To  see  the  love  upon  his  mother's  face. 
Back  to  the  castle,  in  a  goodly  train, 
They  take  their  way,  in  joyous  merriment 
And  festal  cheer. 

99 


UNDER    KING    CONSTANT1N  E. 

A  banquet  for  the  lad 
Is  given  in  the  hall,  where  gather  soon 
The  Noel-garde  retainers,  come  to  greet 
The  noble  boy,  and  say  a  long  farewell. 

The  Lady  Agathar  still  smiles,  and  fills 
The  moment  with  all  pleasure  and  delight; 
No  shadow  of  her  sorrow  or  her  pain 
Shall  fall  upon  her  Christalan  to-day; 
But  deep  within  her  heart  she  maketh  moan, 
"  My  Christalan  goes  forth  to-morrow  morn." 

Amid  the  revel  Greane  and  Christalan 
Are  missing  for  a  time  from  the  gay  feast, 
And  Agathar's  quick  eyes  have  followed  them 
To  where  they  sit  apart,  the  two  young  heads, 
Of  golden  beauty  and  of  softest  brown, 
Forming  a  picture  that  for  evermore 


CHRISTALAN. 

i 

Her  memory  will  hold  to  solace  grief, 
Or  make  it  greater,  as  her  mood  may  be. 

"  O  Christalan !  how  can  I  let  you  go  ?  " 

Says  sweet  Greane,  weeping.    "  Who  will  climb  with  me 

The  rocks  to  find  the  bird's  nest?  who  will  play 

At  arms,  forgetting  that  I  am  a  girl, 

And  helping  me  forget  it  ?  " 

Christalan, 

Lifting  the  nut-brown  curl  to  find  her  ear, 
Low  whispers  tenderly,  "  I  love  you,  Greane, 
A  hundred  times  more  than  were  you  a  boy, 
And  always  have,  e'en  when  I  laughed  at  you." 

Greane  nestles  to  him,  lays  her  pretty  head 
Upon  his  breast;  her  slender  shapely  hand, 
Sun-browned  and  thorn-scratched,  wanders  lovingly 


UNDER    KING   CONST4NTINE. 

Over  his  face  and  hair, —  then  to  the  words 
Upon  his  doublet,  tracing  thoughtfully 
Their  broidered  curving  with  her  forefinger, 

"  Valiant  and  True"  she  says :  "  My  Christalan, 
When  you  are  great  and  famous  in  the  world, 
Which  would  you  be,  could  you  be  only  one  ?  " 

"Why,  Greane,  they  go  together,  like  the  light 
And  morning:  no  knight  could  be  really  true 
And  not  be  valiant  to  the  death;    and  yet, 
No  valiant  knight  could  live  and  not  be  true." 

"  But  if  you  could  be  only  one  ?  "  says  Greane, 
With  child's  persistency. 

Quickly  he  starts, 

Throws  back  his  head  impatiently,  replies, 
"  I  would  be  valiant,  could  I  be  but  one." 

"  O  Christalan,  /  would  be  true,"  says  Greane. 


CHRISTALAN. 

"  Well,  Greane,  you  teased  me  into  saying  it, 

So  do  not  look  so  scornful !     I  should  die 

If  I  could  not  exalt  my  father's  name 

In  valiant  deeds  of  knighthood  and  of  war. 

You  have  to  choose,  for  you  are  but  a  girl; 

I  need  not  choose,  thank  God !     I  will  be  both." 

When  the  gray  morning  dawned  at  Noel-garde, 

The  Lady  Agathar  went  to  her  son ; 

It  was  the  last  good-morrow  they  would  say 

For  many  years  to  come.     At  the  sun's  rise 

He  was  to  leave  his  home,  to  take  his  way 

To  the  brave  knight  Sir  Kathanal,  to  whom 

Sir  Noel,  dying,  had  bade  Agathar 

Send  the  young  Christalan,  in  time,  to  learn 

The  code  of  chivalry  and  knighthood.     Back 

She  drew  the  curtains  of  his  bed,  and  watched 

Him  sleeping,  bent  and  kissed  him: 


UNDER    KING   CONST4NTINE. 

"  Christalan, 

Awake  !  "  she  said,  "  the  day  is  breaking  !     Soon 
You  leave  your  home  where  now  you  rule  as  lord, 
Boy  though  you  are,  and  go  as  servitor; 
You  must  fulfil  my  heart's  desire,  my  son, 
And,  by  God's  help,  bring  answer  to  my  prayers; 
You  must  be  true  and  valiant,  Christalan." 

"  Why,  mother  mine,  is  it  not  wrought  in  gold 
Upon  my  doublet  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  son,"  she  said, 

"  It  must  be  wrought  upon  your  heart  as  well 
As  on  your  doublet." 

Quick  he  answered  her, 
"  How  can  I  help  be  valiant  and  most  true, 
With  such  a  father  and  your  peerless  self 
My  mother?     No,  I  will  not  fail,  be  sure. 
Some  day  I  shall  come  riding  home  to  you 


CHRISTALAN. 

With  honour,  prizes,  fame,  and  dignity, 
That  shall  befit  my  father's  noble  name, 
And  all  the  court  as  I  pass  by  will  cry, 
'Sir  Christalan,  the  Valiant  and  the  True!'" 

"  But,  Christalan,  first  comes  a  time  when  you 

Must  serve,  and  work,  and  cheer  for  other  knights; 

No  knight  is  fully  worthy  to  command 

Until  he  knows  the  lesson  to  obey;        t 

No  ruler  can  be  great  unless  he  learns 

With  dignity  to  be  a  servitor. 

The  least  shall  be  the  greatest,  the  most  true 

In  all  things,  howe'er  small,  shall  be  at  last 

Most  valiant.     Will  you  serve  as  well,  my  son, 

As  now  you  hope  to  conquer?" 

"  Mother  mine, 

Nothing  will  be  too  hard  for  me,  I  know, 
With  knighthood  at  the  end.      If  that  should  fail, 
105 


UNDER    KING  CONSTANTINE. 

I  could  not  bear  it!     It  will  come  at  last! 
When  I  shall  hear  the  cry,  that  in  our  play 
Sweet  Greane  is  ever  calling  through  the  wood, 
From  all  the  court,  and  even  from  the  King, 
'Sir  Christalan,  the  Valiant  and  the  True!'" 

Eight  years  had  passed.     The  Lady  Agathar, 
Unaged,  unchanged,  in  her  plain  robe  of  black. 
Sat  in  her  tower,  watching  for  her  son. 
Fair  Greane  was  with  her,  tall,  and  full  of  grace, 
Right  glad  at  last  that  she  was  born  a  maid. 

They  talked  together  of  that  day,  gone  by, 
When  Christalan  first  left  them.    They  had  heard 
How  nobly,  to  the  pride  of  Noel-garde, 
He  bore  his  days  of  service ;  how,  as  squire, 
He  was  the  favoured  of  Sir  Kathanal ; 
How  keen  and  living  his  ambition  was 

106 


CHRISTALAN. 

To  prove  the  motto  of  his  boyish  choice. 
And  it  was  near;  the  mother's  heart  was  glad 
That,  ere  the  week  was  ended,  Christalan 
Would  be  the  knight  his  heart  had  longed  to  be. 
His  maiden  shield,  waiting  his  valour's  right 
To  grave  it  as  his  doublet  had  been  wrought, 
And  his  bright  armour  were  in  readiness 
For  the  long  vigil  by  his  arms,  alone 
Before  the  altar  in  that  sacred  place, 
The  holy  Minster,  where  his  father  slept. 
First  he  would  come,  that  she  might  bless  her  son. 
Well  did  she  comprehend  the  happiness 
In  his  brave  heart  to-day;  the  early  vow 
That  stirred  the  boy  so  deeply,  long  ago, 
Was  near  its  confirmation!    His  intense 
And  solemn  longing  for  the  watch  at  night; 
His  ardent  joy  in  knighthood,  won  at  last, — 
She  shared  before  she  saw  him,  with  that  sense 
107 


UNDER   KING    CONSTANTINE. 

Of  subtle  sympathy  a  mother,  only,  knows. 

She  spoke  her  thoughts  aloud  in  pride-thrilled  tones — 

"Almost  a  knight,  my  Greane,  is  Christalan; 
How  valiant,  faithful,  noble  he  has  been, 
And  will  be  ever,  my  true-hearted  son ! " 

"  Greane !    Greane !    they    come !      I    see    a    dusty 

cloud 

That  hides  and  heralds  the  approach  of  men. 
Look,  is  it  Christalan?     They  come  more  near, 
Nearer  and  nearer!     God  in  Heaven!     Greane, 
What  is  it  that  they  bring?     Not  Christalan? 
O  no;  that  silent  form  they  bear  so  slow 
Can  not,  and  must  not,  be  my  Christalan! 
Come,  Greane,  and  contradict  my  eyes  for  me." 

Greane's  answer  was  a  swift,  confirming  swoon. 

108 


CHRISTALAN. 

Up  through  the  gates  they  bore  her  Christalan, 

Dressed  in  the  garments  of  the  neophyte, 

That  erst  were  spotless  white,  but  then  were  soiled, 

Bedraggled  and  dust-stained.     His  golden  hair 

A  matted  mass,  of  sunny  curls  unkempt, — 

And  yet  how  beautiful  he  was  withal! 

Into  the  hall  they  brought  and  laid  him  down, 

While  Agathar  gave  thanks,  from  her  despair, 

That  death  had  not  yet  conquered  him.     He  lived, 

Although  he  spoke  not,  moved  not,  scarcely  breathed. 

They  told  her,  in  few  words,  of  his  brave  deed. 
In  some  lone  mountain  way,  far  from  the  court, 
He  saw  a  knight  almost  unhorsed  by  fraud, 
And  springing  quickly  to  the  knight's  relief, 
Unarmed,  unready,  without  thought  of  self, 
He  had  been  trampled  by  the  maddened  horse, 
Whose  master  he  had  saved  unfair  defeat. 
109 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANTINE. 

The  leech  had  tended  him  with  greatest  care, 
Promised  him  life,  but  never  more,  alas! 
The  power  to  wield  his  sword,  or  wear  his  arms, 
The  strength  to  walk,  or  run,  or  live  the  life 
Of  manhood  as  men  prize  it.     Some  deep  hurt, 
Beyond  the  sight,  would  ever  foil  his  strength, 
And  make  bold  effort  perilous  to  life. 
They  told  her  how  he  whiter  grew,  at  this, 
And,   with    the    one    word,    "  Noel-garde,"    had 

passed 

Into  the  trance,  like  death,  that  held  him  thus 
Through  all  the  journey  they  had  carried  him. 
"  My  valiant  boy,"  said  Lady  Agathar ; 
And  hushed  her  heart,  to  minister  to  him. 

Slowly,  at  last,  the  lovely  eyes  unclosed 

The  speaking  beauty  of  their  dark-blue  depths, 

To  meet  his  mother's  with  beseeching  gaze. 


CHRISTALAN. 

"  I  can  be  true,  but  never  valiant  now," 
He  said  in  faltering  accents.     "  Mother  mine, 
There  is  no  knight  for  you  and  my  sweet  Greane. 
God  help  me !  "  and  he  turned  him  to  the  wall. 

"  O  Christalan !  my  son,"  she  answered  him, 
"  Knighthood  is  in  the  spirit  and  the  soul ; 
The  deeds  that  show  the  knighthood  to  the  world 
Are  but  the  chance  and  circumstance  of  fate ; 
And  no  knight  could  be  truer  than  you  proved 
Yourself  in  self-forgetting,  nor  more  brave 
Than  in  foregoing  knighthood  for  a  knight. 
You  will  be  far  more  valiant,  if  you  bear 
This  sorrow  without  murmur  or  complaint, 
Than  you  could  prove  in  any  battle  won. 
The  meanest  varlet  often  wins  by  chance. 
It  needeth  valour  like  our  blessed  Lord's 
To  forfeit  glory,  and  to  suffer  pain 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANTINE. 

Unhonoured  and  unknown  —  ah,  Christalan, 
True  knight  within  my  heart  I  hold  you,  dear." 

"Yea,  mother  mine,  but  now  my  father's  name 
Remains  without  fresh  glory;  his  last  prayer 
And  dying  wishes  must  be  unfulfilled." 

"  Sweet  Christalan,  when  you  were  scarce  a  lad, 
You  saw  the  King  and  thought  his  shining  crown 
His  royalty,  which  now  you  know  is  naught 
But  symbol  of  it.     Thus  your  father,  dear, 
In  larger  life  of  knowledge  of  the  truth, 
Knows  that  the  boon  he  prayed  was  but  the  sign. 
Tis  yours,  now,  to  fulfil  the  higher  prayer; 
'T  is  yours  to  gain  the  inward  grace,  and  leave 
The  outward  sign,  great  in  its  way,  but  less." 

"  Your  words  are  like  the  first  flush  of  the  dawn 
In  the  dark  night,  my  mother,  bringing  light 


CHRISTALAN. 

To  show  more  plain  the  lingering  dark.     O  God, 
It  is  so  dark  and  bitter!     How  can  you, 
Yea,  even  you,  begin  to  understand  ? 
You  never  were  a  man  —  almost  a  knight." 

"  But  I  have  been  a  mother,"  she  replied 
In  tones  so  strange  he  roused  to  look  at  her, 
And  saw  his  sorrow's  kinship  in  her  eyes. 
He  drew  her  arm  beneath  his  head,  and  slept. 

They  noursled  him  to  outward  show  of  strength, 
With  care  and  love,  the  best  of  medicines. 
A  brighter  day  now  dawned  for  Noel-garde 
With  his  home-coming,  notwithstanding  grief. 
What  tales  there  were  to  tell  of  the  great  court, 
Of  his  long  service  with  Sir  Kathanal, 
To  which  Greane  listened  with  quick,  bated  breath, 
Sharing  each  feat  and  play  with  Christalan 
As  lie  relived  it  for  her. 

"3 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANTINE. 

"  List  ye,  Greane," 

He  said  one  day  with  ardour  of  brave  youth 
Aglow  for  bravery ;  "  I  met  a  man 
Who  once  had  seen  the  great  Sir  Launcelot, 
And    told    me    of   him.     How    he    prayed  and 

prayed 

Within  the  cloister;  all  his  deeds  of  war, 
Of  prowess,  and  renown,  were  naught  to  him, 
Though  men  bowed  low  in  goodly  reverence 
As  he  walked  by;  and  some,  'the  foolish  ones,' 
The  man  said,  yet  they  seem  not  so  to  me, 
Stooped   down   and   kissed    the   footprints  that    he 

left. 

Although  he  wore  but  simple  gown  of  serge, 
With  girdle  at  the  waist,  like  any  monk, 
One  felt,  with  passing  glance,  he  had  a  power 
Unconquerable  in  reserve,  to  swift 
O'ercome  whate'er  approached  him,  if  he  would. 


CHRISTALAN. 

And,  Greane,  bend  down  and  let  me  speak  to  you: 

I  saw  at  Camelot  the  great  white  tomb 

Of  sweet  Elaine,  and  not  in  all  the  court 

Saw  I  a  maiden  half  so  fair  as  she. 

She  lies  there  carved  in  marble,  pure  and  white; 

And,  by  our  blessed  Lord,  my  heart  is  sure 

That,  were  she  living,  I  should  love  her  well." 

"  O  Christalan !  you  would  not  love  a  maid 

That  lost  her  maiden  pride  and  dignity, 

Giving  her  love  unasked  ?  "  said  Greane,  in  scorn. 

"  Alas,  Greane !  have  you,  hidden  from  the  world, 
Learned  the  world's  jargon  and  false  estimates  ? 
Do  you  not  know  that  love  is  more  than  pride, 
And  beating  heart  more  than  cold  dignity  ? 
Men  die  for  glory,  and  you  all  applaud. 
Elaine's  love  was  her  glory;  honour  her 
That  she  did  die  for  it.     That  she  could  tell 


UNDER    KING    CONSTANTINE. 

Her  story  fearlessly  to  all  the  court 

But  proves  her  high,  unconscious  purity." 

"  Well,"  said  fair  Greane,  with  laughter  in  her  eyes, 
"  I  straight  will  die  for  the  next  noble  knight 
Who  comes  to  Noel-garde  to  rest  awhile, 
And  you  shall  put  me  on  a  gilded  barge, — 
I  will  not  have  a  solemn  bed  of  black!  — 
And  our  old  servitor  shall  deck  — " 

"  Peace,  Greane ! " 

Said  Christalan,  in  tones  that  frightened  her, 
Who  knew  no  sound  from  him  but  tenderness. 
"  Dare  not  to  jest  about  that  holy  maid, 
Too  pure  to  fear,  too  true  to  hide  her  heart." 

Then  there  were  tales  to  tell  of  the  great  King 
Who  passed  in  such  a  wondrous  mystery 
From  out  the  realm;  and  of  King  Constantine, 

116 


CHRIST4LAN. 

"  Who    may    not   be    like    great    King    Arthur, 

Greane, 

But  who  deservedly  has  right  to  wear 
The  crown  he  wore;  for  he  is  brave  and  strong, 
Mighty  in  battle,  bountiful  in  peace, 
To  each  brave  knight  a  friend,  and  to  the  weak 
As  I,  who  never  knew  a  father,  think 
A  father  might  be. 

"When  I  saw  him  first, 

He  asked,  'Are  you  Sir  Noel's  son  —  the  knight 
Who,  with  the  mighty  King  (peace  to  his  soul!)5 
Landed  at  Dover,  and  there  fought  so  well  ? ' 
Abashed  I  answered,  'Yea>  my  liege';  but  he 
Laid  his  great  hand,  that  has  a  jagged  scar 
Half-way  across  it,  on  my  arm  and  said, 
'  Be  not  afraid ;  I  was  your  father's  friend, 
And  will  be  yours,  if  you  are  worthy  him.' 
it? 


UNDER    KING  CONSTANT1NE. 

"  Often  thereafter  would  he  speak  to  me 

So  graciously,  I  for  a  time  forgot 

He  was  a  king,  and  answered  him  as  free 

From  fear  or  shyness  as  I  answer  you; 

Told  him  my  thirst  for  knighthood  and  for  fame, 

To  which  he  listened  with  that  strange  grim  smile, 

So  like  a  sunbeam  in  a  rocky  place. 

Then,  straightway,  as  I  watched  him,  in  his  eyes 

There  came  the  look  that  made  me  want  to   kneel, 

Remembering  he  was  a  king  indeed. 

I  love  him,  Greane  ;  I  —  " 

Christalan  turned  quick 
His  face  away,  and  strove  to  hide  the  pain 
That  held  him  in  its  sharp  and  sudden  , grasp; 
Pain  of  the  flesh,  that  was  but  less  than  pain 
Of  heart,  that  it  should  keep  him  from  his  King, 
And  knightly  service  worthy  of  his  name. 

118 


CHRISTAL/tN. 

Greane   spoke    not,    but   she    understood,   and 

crept 

Close  to  his  side,  finding  his  cold  white  hand, — 
The  laughter  turned  to  tears  within  her  eyes. 

Great  was  his  love  for  Greane,  but  greater  far 
His  love  for  Agathar.     Born  of  his  pain, 
A  strange  dependence  tinged  pathetically 
The  proud  possession  of  his  trust  as  guard 
Of  her  reft  life  and  lonely  widowhood. 
He  waited  for  her  coming  in  the  morn 
With  flowers  he  had  gathered  ere  she  woke ; 
At  night  he  led  her  to  her  chamber  door, 
With  boyish  homage  touched  with  stately  grace, 
And  Agathar  said  to  her  widowed  heart, 
"  How  like  his  father  in  his  courtesy ! " 
Often  she  kissed  him,  whispering  the  while, 
"  Beloved  Christalan,  my  more  than  knight, 

16  119 


UNDER   KING   CONST4NTINE. 

You  bear  your  bitter  lot  so  patiently. 

Thank  God  you  are  so  valiant  and  so  true !  " 

Slowly  the  shadow  on  his  way  grew  less 

Eclipsing;  the  brave  spirit  that  was  ripe 

For  doing  deeds  came  to  fulfil  itself 

In  the  far  harder  task  of  doing  naught; 

The  courage  ready  for  activity 

But  changed  its  course,  as  he  forebore  and  smiled. 

And  yet  he  oft  would  hasten  from  the  sight 

Of  Greane  and  Agathar,  and  seek  the  wood, 

Where  he  was  hidden  from  the  tender  eyes 

So  quick  to  see  his  struggle.    Lying  prone 

Upon  the  grass,  he  stretched  his  fragile  form 

Its  fullest  length  to  cheat  himself  with  thought 

That  he  was  stalwart;  then  he  closed  his  eyes 

To  generous  summer's  lavish  golden  glow 

Of  shimmering  sunshine  playing  everywhere, 


CHRISTALAN. 

And  the  fair  world  of  beauty,  flowering; 

Shut  from  his  hearing  caroling  of  bird, 

The  liquid  rhythm  of  rivulet,  the  song 

Of  wind  amid  the  tree-tops,  all  the  notes 

Of  nature's  melody;  and  heard  alone, 

With  inward  ear,  the  clanging  clash  of  arms 

And     shouts    of     victory.        Through     the    long 

hours 

He  lay  and  fought  his  fight  imaginary, 
To  rise,  more  wan,  to  wage  his  war  with  pain. 

One  morning,  when  the  sun  rose,  he  was  far 
From  Noel-garde.     He  had  gone  out  to  seek 
The  wayside  lilies,  fresh  with  early  dew. 
From  the  deep  shadow  of  the  wood  he  heard 
A  troop  of  mailed  horsemen  cry  a  halt 
Just  in  the  path  before  him.     In  low  tones 
They  talked  of  a  dark  plot  to  kill  the  King. 


UNDER    KING    CONST4NTINE. 

The  heart  of  Christalan,  that  beat  so  faint, 
And  oft  so  wearily,  beat  fast  and  strong 
In  anxious  listening.     It  was  a  band 
Of  outlawed  robbers,  rebels  to  the  King, 
Who  planned  to  lay  at  the  great  undern  hunt 
A  trap  for  the  brave,  unsuspecting  King, 
Spring  on  him  unawares,  and  take  his  life, 
And  have  revenge  for  justice  done  to  them. 

His  King!  they  spoke  about  his  noble  King, 
Then  in  the  old  court  castle  near  his  home, 
For  a  brief  resting  on  Ins  journey  north. 

He  leaned  against  a  gnarled  and  twisted  oak, 

His  soul  a  listening  intensity, 

And  all  his  strength  seemed  leaving  him;    he 

drew 
A  quick  and  stifled  breath  of  sharpest  pain, 


CHRIST/ILAN. 

As  they  rode  on,  and  thought  of  Agathar, 
Watching  and  waiting  for  his  coming  home. 

"  Yes,  I  can  save  him ;  God  be  thanked  for  that. 
I  now  may  do  one  valiant  deed  and  die." 

It  was  a  long  way  to  the  court,  through  dense 
Unbroken  forest,  with  a  single  path 
Trodden  between  the  trees;  he  had  no  horse, 
No  strength,  and  little  time  before  the  deed  — 
The  dreadful  deed — be  done.     Not  since  his  hurt 
Had  he  walked  fast,  or  far,  without  great  pain; 
Now  it  will  follow  every  step  he  takes  — 
But  what  is  that,  he  goes  to  save  his  King! 

Prepared  to  brave  the  pain,  all  stealthily 
He  started  from  the  shadow  of  the  trees; 
When  suddenly  two  of  the  bandit  band 


UNDER    KING   CONSTANT1NE. 

Came  riding  back  again,  ere  he  could  hide — 
The  one  had  dropped  his  javelin  and  returned 
To  seek  it.     Heavy  coats  of  mail  incased 
The  stalwart  frames  scarce  needing  a  defense, 
So  strong  they  were. 

Silent  stood  Christalan 

And  faced  their  coming,  not  a  trace  of  fear 
Or  tremor  in  his  bearing,  slight  and  frail 
In  his  white  doublet,  holding  in  his  hand 
The  wayside  lilies  he  forgot  to  drop, 
Which  to  the  Lady  Agathar  shall  come, 
Alas!  without  his  greeting  or  his  kiss. 

"  Ho ! "  cried  the  bandits.    "  Eavesdropping  ?    By  hell 
And  all  the  devils!  we  will  slash  his  tongue 
Too  fine  to  tell  our  secrets,  if  he  heard ! 
Speak,  man,    or    die!       Heard    you    our    converse 
now?" 


CHRISTALAN. 

"  Strike,  ye  base  cowards,"  answered  Christalan. 

"  I  am  unarmed,  alone,  and  weaponless ; 

I  cannot  wield  the  sword,  nor  wear  my  helm, 

But  God  is  with  me  to  defend  me  now, 

So  strike  against  His  power,  if  you  dare ! " 

The  sunlight,  slanting  westward  through  the  trees, 

Fell  first  upon  his  lifted,  golden  head, 

Making  a  shining  helmet  of  his  curls, 

And  then  upon  the  lilies  in  his  hand ; 

His  eyes  had  a  defiant,  fearless  glow; 

Against  the  sombre  background  of  the  wood, 

He  looked  scarce  human. 

"  Mother  of  our  Lord ! " 
In  frightened  breath,  the  bandit  rebels  cried. 
"It  is  a  spirit;  no  mere  mortal  man 
Would  stand  and  face  us  boldly  so,  unarmed. 

"5 


UNDER   KING   CONSTANTINE. 

Look  at  the  Virgin's  lilies  in  his  hand! 

Great  God,  preserve  us,  save  us  from  our  doom ! " 

And  turning  in  a  panic  of  swift  fear, 

They  vanished  quickly  through  the  shadowed  wood, 

While  Christalan  sped  on  to  save  his  King. 

He  sees  the  castle,  and  he  hears  the  horn 
That  calls  the  court  together  for  the  hunt; 
His  strength  is  failing,  and  his  heart  grows  faint. 
Quick,  ere  it  cease  to  beat!     Faster,  more  fast! 

0  but  to  save  his  noble  lord!     One  swift, 

Last  run,  and  he  has  reached  them;  breathlessly 
He  stands  before  the  charger  of  the  King, 
With  arms  uplifted  and  imploring  eyes, 
Until  words  come,  between  sharp  gasps  of  pain. 
"  Go  not,  my  liege,  upon  the  hunt  to-day, 

1  pray  you,  for  the  glory  of  the  realm." 

126 


CHR1STALAN. 

With  cheeks   that  paled  and  flushed,  and  panting 

breath, 

He  told  his  story  in  disjointed  words, 
And,  with  unconscious  frank  simplicity, 
The  tale  of  his  high  courage  on  the  way, 
To    prove,   what    it    had    proved    to    his    own 

heart, 

The  care  of  God  to  shield  his  lord  the  King. 
Then  he  fell  prostrate  at  the  great  King's  feet, 
And  tired  life  ebbed  fast  to  leave  him  rest. 

He  lies  amid  the  hushed  and  silent  court, 
The  faded  lilies  still  within  his  hand; 
And  with  his  weary,  dying  eyes  he  sees 
The  sword  of  Constantine  above  his  head, 
Giving,  at  last,  the  royal  accolade, 
While  the  King's  face  is  full  of  yearning  love ; 
And  with  his  dying  ears  he  hears  the  words, 
17  127 


UNDER    KING.   CONSTANT1NE. 

That  he  has  bravely  striven  to  resign,  - 

"Sir  Christalan,  my  True  and  Valiant  knight," 

And  then  the  murmur  from  the  assembled  court, 
"Sir  Christalan,  the  Valiant  and  the  True; 
God  speed  the  soul  of  our  beloved  knight, 
Sir  Christalan,  the  Valiant  and  the  True." 


NOTE   TO  PAGE  88. 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  blast  entred  a 
sunne  beame  more  clear  by  seaven  times 
then  ever  they  saw  day,  and  all  they  were 
alighted  of  the  grace  of  the  holy  Ghost" 

'•'•Then  there  entred  into  the  hall  the 
holy  grale  covered  with  white  samite,  but 
there  was  none  that  might  see  it,  nor  who 
beare  it,  and  there  was  all  the  hall  ful 
filled  with  good  odours" 

"Then  he  listned,  and  heard  a  voice 
which  sung  so  sweetly,  that  it  seemed 
none  earthly  thing,  and  him  thought  that 
the  voice  said,  lJoy  and  honour  be  to  the 
Father  of  heaven?  " 

SIR  THOMAS  MALORY,  "La  Mortd'Arthure." 


129 


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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-42m-8,'49  (85573)444 


TTMTVl?trcrr!'V 


3089 


1893 


Uhdar  ling 
Hnnstantine 


PS3089   .T69u   1893 
V 


L  009  609  347 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIl 


AA   001221017   5 


PS 

3089 
T69u 
1893 


